


Unravel

by brighteye



Series: Hope [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Songfic, mercykill - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:14:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26220961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brighteye/pseuds/brighteye
Summary: "We all make choices, but in the end our choices make us." ― Ken LevineSnippets of time, following the fall of Overwatch.
Relationships: Jesse McCree & Angela "Mercy" Ziegler, Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Angela "Mercy" Ziegler
Series: Hope [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911919
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	Unravel

**Author's Note:**

> Surprise, I'm not actually dead!
> 
> The song is "Unravel", originally sung by Toru Kitajima for the anime Tokyo Ghoul. The English lyrics I'm using are the ones written and perfomed by BriCie & Narutee on YouTube.

_  
Oh won’t you tell me, please just tell me, explain how this should work.  
_ _Well now who could it be, that lives inside of me?  
  
_

She was Angela Ziegler, though it had been a long time since anyone had called her anything besides “Dr. Ziegler”. Formerly known as “Mercy”, she had run the medical division of Overwatch – she’d spearheaded innovative research projects; performed impossible surgeries in difficult, dangerous environments; and had served as a field medic. Now, she was forced into a singular role – medical research – for a hospital in Zürich. She offered her time as often as possible to various medical charities – Doctors Without Borders being one that allowed her to travel and do more than just tinker, which was the closest she could come to reliving her Overwatch days without enlisting in the military – but she still chafed under the monotonous life she now led. It was hard to believe she had once hated the idea of working with Overwatch.  
  
She is a healer, a savior – some rumors and whispers would even say she was an angel or a God. She had never prided herself on her ability to hurt and maim, but instead to fix those that violence had broken. That fact had led her to many places, before and after the fall of Overwatch. She put together the soldiers that were broken, only so they could fling themselves at the world to be shattered again. She fixed the innocents that were hurt in the crossfire. She attended the funerals of those who she couldn’t save, etching each name on her heart to remember and mourn in the dark. She isn’t a solider, and she’s never pretended to be one – not even in her prime, when she was a part of something greater than herself. The destruction of Overwatch had killed two of the remaining leaders – Jack and Gabriel – and had left her alone to try to put the pieces back together.  
  
It was the one wound that she had never quite been able to heal, and it festered between all of the prominent ex-members. They were rarely even in the same country as one another, and only emergency or very special occasions brought them together anymore. If they’d been closer – or she less stubborn – maybe they could have stopped her from searching for trouble.  
  
She should have a team here with her, of friends and allies, but instead she was alone in some back alley in Mexico with nothing but her pistol at her hip – but she stands here anyway. She would do anything to protect her friends – the few she has left, at any rate – and she’d gotten used to being alone again, even if the idea still made her miserable.  
  
With Overwatch gone, she’s found herself alone more often than not.  
  
Even now, years after the Fall, she was protecting them as best she knew how – only now she was the one playing the political games Jack and Ana had shielded her (and them) from. Being the unmistakable Angela Ziegler – the angel of Mercy, the Healer – while also requiring much more in the way of resources to continue her own medical research made it hard to keep a low profile. The only other member who had any similar issues was her gorilla friend, Winston – but he stayed out of the public eye in Gibraltar, where he stood as protector for Athena and their agents’ identities. Tracer was chasing Talon across Europe after the death of Mondatta; from what Angela had gathered from Winston, she felt personally responsible for his murder at the hands of their one-time friend, Amélie-turned-Widowmaker. Genji was in Nepal, but she hadn’t spoken to him at all since shortly after the Fall. She hadn’t checked up on the others in too long, and she couldn’t say for certain where they may be.  
  
Angela didn’t begrudge their distance, even as she missed them – their closeness had become something she’d once taken for granted, and now she was left adrift. Still, she didn’t imagine they wanted to live under the watchful eye of the UN and the IJC any more than she did. She was the last bulwark between those she loved and the harsh judgement of the public eye. As much as Angela chafed under their opinions and their decisions, she forced herself to stay the course. She didn’t have it in her to remain idle while there remained people to save – both strangers across the globe and friends dear to her heart – so she allowed them to pass their judgements and force her into a lifestyle that chafed as much as it fulfilled. However, she still was able to slip away from time to time to do much needed tasks – like the one that had brought her here.  
  
She was supposed to meet their cowboy, McCree, but she had never been one for patience – even when it would keep her safe – if she thought it would protect others. Angela would go ahead of him – and while he would curse her foolishness, he would follow her faithfully to ensure her safety. Angela was their medic and healer, and she had patched together their bodies and hearts more times than there were stars in the sky; she was protective of them to the point of recklessness. In turn, her friends were downright murderous when it came to her safety, and she knew McCree wouldn’t leave her to her (well deserved) fate after rushing off ahead.  
  
But she couldn’t sit on her hands, not on this case, not even for a second. They’d gotten a rumor about the murderer that was haunting the steps of the remaining individuals that had served as a part of Overwatch – and the shadowy counterpart, Blackwatch. All the ex-members were looking over their shoulders and sleeping with one eye open, fearful that they would be the next in this series of inexplicably horrible murders. The few bodies she’d been allowed to see had been dismembered beyond visual recognition; it had only been through dental records that some had been identified. There was no reason for her to believe she could take him on – if the soldiers had been killed, what made her think she stood a chance – especially without a protector, a true scrapper, as backup?  
  
But she wasn’t completely out of her mind. She had geared up as if she were heading towards a battlefield with an Overwatch strike team. Her Valkyrie suit looked very similar to the one she’d worn years ago, even though that one had been lost like so many other things in the Fall. Her wings were retracted against her back – a new feature that helped her look just a little less ostentatious, especially when she was all alone in tight quarters – as she strode purposefully towards a door. Her iconic staff was also collapsed into a smaller cylinder, holstered at the base of her spine just beneath her retracted wings, leaving her hands free to shove the door open just enough to slip inside.  
  
Her boots echoed, overly loud in the silent building despite her attempts to be quiet, but there was nothing in the room that would help her. For all purposes, it appeared abandoned – maybe a place the homeless would flock to for shelter once the weather turned, but for now empty. Angela found a stairwell leading down into a shadowy basement, and she paused. She knew she should wait – McCree would be here soon (probably). But if she waited and this murderer slipped once again through their fingers, she’d never forgive herself. More blood would be on her hands.  
  
Cautiously, she drew her pistol – though she knew she would only be able to shoot it as an absolute last defense. She’d never been one for wanton killing, not unless it would protect another. Her skills lay elsewhere – in healing – and she never had wanted to be a killer.  
  
And yet, she slipped slowly down the stairs, gun held confidently before her as her eyes scanned the darkness.  
  
Once her feet were firmly on the basement floor, she turned left – a random direction, to be sure, but the wrong one. She was suddenly pressed against the wall, one hand pinning the gun down and away from her assailant while the other gripped her throat.

 _  
I’m broken lying helpless, shattered, surrounded by the world.  
_ _And yet you’re smiling bright, completely blind to life.  
  
_

The suit had definitely seen better days. One wing was aloft as always, ready to lift her off her feet and carry her to safety or to an agent that needed her help. The other was drooping crookedly, and he was honestly surprised it wasn’t dragging on the ground behind her like a tail. Her halo was crooked and cracked nearly in half; he imagined it was only stubbornness and pride that had kept her from tossing it aside, as it probably was more distracting than anything else. The Valkyrie suit – and catsuit she wore underneath – was torn and broken as well. There was a jagged tear along the left side of her ribcage, as well as what looked like a puncture through her left shoulder, that revealed whole flesh beneath. If it weren’t for the blood stains on the edges and down the sides, he could imagine that the scars there weren’t brand new.  
  
If it weren’t for her research and experimentation, she wouldn’t have been able to walk around after the blast – not even with the Valkyrie suit. Her body was nearly as indestructible as his own at this point, and he was pretty durable. After all, he’d survived the bomb that had brought Overwatch to its’ knees – and he’d been mere rooms away when it had gone off.  
  
Somehow, she had found him in the ruins. He shouldn’t be surprised; she’d always had a way of finding her way back to him – even when she wasn’t supposed to _be_ here. He’d planned it all out to keep her safe – but of course something must have come up to keep her home and throw a wrench in his desperate ploy to protect her, even as he worked to destroy her. But she wouldn’t have been wearing the Valkyrie suit when the blast went off – she would have been caught as unawares as everyone else. Impossible to believe that she could know what he had planned. Angela would never be trying to save him if she believed for a single moment that he had caused the death and destruction of everything she loved.  
  
“A-Angela…” Her name was a prayer on his lips. She was his only chance at survival – but he wanted, _needed_ to die here. He loved her fiercely, desperately, and yet he wanted to protect her from the pain his death would cause her. That he was the cause of the destruction around her was something he hoped she never discovered – but that was a fools’ hope. He knew she would piece it together; she was the smartest person he knew. One day his name would be a curse in her mouth, his memory nothing but a desperate regret to bury with the others that died here today.  
  
“Hush, Gabe, please.” Angela had turned to press one hand against his cheek briefly, and he savored the touch even as his body screamed at him. “I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” He believed she could – after all, she’d dragged Genji back to life and he’d been little more than a corpse when she’d gotten to him.  
  
“N-No… please…” He rasped, as close to a plea as he was able to form in his state. He needed to die, to let this end here and now. Jack was surely already dead – but if he wasn’t, he would be soon. The golden boy and his shadow killed in the devastating explosion. A fitting end to their story, a warriors’ death – if only the angel at his side would let him die in peace. Angela ignored him, of course, grunting as she stretched him out flat.  
  
“Please, hold on Gabe. Hold on for me.” Her eyes were too bright. She was barely holding it together in the face of such personal devastation. She had faced certain death on the battlefield, performed field surgeries and amputations, had managed triage centers following natural disasters and mass shootings, and he had always seen her strong. This one act had brought her world _literally_ crumbling to pieces, and she was scrambling to hold it together so that she could fix him. She’d always been so strong, his Angela; he hoped she would survive his death – and his betrayal – with all the rest.  
  
“Gabe?” Her hands were shaking as they pressed against his throat and cheek, checking to see if he was still alive and breathing. Somewhere someone was screaming – no words, just incoherent screams of pain – and he wondered what this day would cost her at the end. Wondered what _he_ would cost her, cost all of them. “Gabriel, are you still awake?” _Are you still alive?_ After everything he had done, how could he deny her this?  
  
“I’m here.” He mumbled, barely audible over the groaning of the building as it shifted and settled, and his eyes cracked open to look up at her worried face.  
  
The smile that erupted across her face could have lit up a dozen rooms.  
  
“Stay with me, Gabe. Stay with me.” He wanted to, more than anything – but his actions today had destroyed any dreams they may have once had. They were impossible, and there was no one to blame but him.  
  
She yanked out the tools of her trade from a bag he hadn’t noticed – gauze, stitches, and a handful of syringes that he knew held the nanobots that had held her together in this disaster zone. It appeared her staff either hadn’t survived the blast or she’d lost it somewhere along the way; after all, she’d relied heavily on that tool to save people since she’d designed it years ago.  
  
He couldn’t feel where the needle pierced his skin; his whole body was going numb in the face of the damage it’d sustained. Again and again and again, she tugged and pulled his ragged flesh into a semblance of what it once was. He hadn’t experienced true triage since she had joined their ranks, but he recognized it when he saw it; she was fixing the worst of it with no regards to whether his body could tolerate the pain or whether there may be something else hidden beneath. This wasn’t her neat, professional work that was her trademark; it was haphazard – he wasn’t a doctor and even he could tell – but it was the best he would get if this was all she could give.  
  
Angela turned to her bag again to grab one of those syringes – it was filled with a milky white fluid that he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen before.  
  
“Take a deep breath.” She ordered. “Now, Gabe; deep breath!” The order was sharp, and he could no more ignore it than he could make his heart stop. His lungs filled almost of their own volition under her gaze – and then she struck. The needle pierced his chest, a painful stab that had him arching up against her steadying hand as she depressed the plunger. Suddenly he was choking on that breath as she pressed him back into the ground. She was speaking, her lips were moving, but he couldn’t hear – he was dying, this time it was real, he knew it was real and this was it. He drank in her features even as he strained against her hands; if these were his last moments, let them be filled with her.  
  
He wasn’t sure if she stabbed him again with another of those syringes. Maybe she did, maybe she didn’t; it didn’t matter to him anymore. He slipped away from her and the hell he had created.

\---

He was surprised when he woke up again. Against all odds, he was still breathing. Angela had pulled off one last miracle after all. He wasn’t sure how long that miracle would last, however, considering that he found himself buried in rubble. While there couldn’t be that much laying on him – he’d survived the burial, after all – there was no telling how much was truly covering him. Angela had treated him on one of the middle floors of the base – that was where he’d set off the bomb.  
  
Hopefully Angela wasn’t buried near him.  
  
What followed was a frantic attempt to free himself that led him to discover that he had the ability to become something akin to smoke – which made his escape simultaneously easier and harder. It was easier for the obvious reasons – he wasn’t held back by the rubble that was upon him. It was harder because he had no idea how to control it. He had no idea what had happened to him or why, and he would randomly regain corporeal form – and sometimes at the most inopportune times.  
  
He took the time to search for Angela’s body in the rubble around him – easier done considering his newfound ability – but he had no luck. Gabriel knew that wasn’t a guarantee of her survival, but at least he wouldn’t have to wonder if he’d left her to die.  
  
When he finally escaped the rubble – and the responders searching for survivors – it was well after dark. He wasn’t sure what day it was or how long he’d been unconscious, but it didn’t matter anyway.  
  
Gabriel Reyes was dead. Whatever remained of him – this ghost, literally, of himself – was no longer a person who wanted to call himself such.

 _  
My ruptured lungs, they were left this way; for once I’m out of breath.  
_ _The truth I seek never felt so bleak, but I maintain my depth  
  
_

The mission had been delayed – it wasn’t urgent, not like so many others she’d been on, but the delay chafed. She couldn’t start any work – the moment they decided to give the green light she’d need to climb into a helicopter, and she always hated leaving work undone. Instead, she was waiting around in her Valkyrie suit, a scientific journal in hand. Their mission was only taking them an hour away; she’d need it when they arrived, and there was no point in traveling in a different outfit.  
  
Just when she was considering changing clothes anyway, she heard a muffled _boom_ as a mild tremor shook the room. Angela looked at the others with her in alarm, wondering if she’d imagined it – when another tremor hit. An alarm began shrieking as she realized they were under attack, this was _real_. She started to climb to her feet – she needed to help the evacuation of her divisions; most of them had never seen – nor wanted to see – combat or violence, and their home was suddenly compromised.  
  
A third tremor went off, worse than the two from before, and the whole world went sideways as the room collapsed from under them. Instinctively she tried to slow her fall using the suit she was wearing, but it wasn’t very useful when debris was coming from above and dragging you down. She hit something solid – she wasn’t quite sure where she was anymore – and registered a sharp pain in her side. Before she could assess the damage, rebar came sailing down to pin her left shoulder to the ground – and not even the Valkyrie suit could numb the pain quickly enough to keep her from screaming. When she managed to quiet herself, she looked at the metal protruding from her chest; three inches lower and it would have pierced her heart instead. A groan to her right had her swallowing her pain to shift her head and look. Others had fallen with her, and most of them were battered but alive.  
  
“Help me,” she called weakly. She was having a hard time catching her breath; whether it was from shock or her wounds, she wasn’t sure. One of the men glanced over towards her and shouted to the others – the ones that weren’t already moving rubble and trying to help those wounded they could reach – to help him. It took three of them – one holding her down and two pulling – to get the rebar out of her. It was one of the more painful wounds she’d ever received, but once the rebar was out the suit managed to numb it to a tolerable level. She quickly turned her attention to her wounds. While she wanted to help the others, she wasn’t sure if she’d survive putting the others over her own health – and then who would save them?  
  
Fortunately, she’d been carrying her pack when the explosions tore the building apart. She didn’t know what happened to her staff – it had been on a table nearby and she was doubtful it survived the fall to whatever floor they were on now. Still, she had other tools to patch them up. There were the more traditional tools – gauze and stitches – as well as her more sophisticated healing stream. She pulled that out first, setting it to work on the hole in her shoulder that was still pouring blood before shifting to look to the ribs below her left breast, doing her best to ignore the debris that was still falling haphazardly and the screams of those still trapped in the wreckage above.  
  
She was pretty sure she’d broken a few ribs in the fall; no wonder breathing was becoming a harder chore. It was unfortunate that she had no way to set those bones. Instead, she set the healing stream to the gash in her chest instead, grabbing a pad of gauze to hold to her shoulder while she waited.  
  
“Help me stand.” Angela ordered the man that held her down, and he scrambled to obey as a fourth – or was it fifth? – explosion rocked the building. All of them were used to combat, so none of them were sitting around shocked – even though she was sure they all desperately wanted to do just that. They’d gotten complacent and comfortable; it had been years since she’d joined, and this was the first time an attack had ever touched the Zürich base. This was supposed to be a safe place, and now it was another war zone.  
  
Leaning heavily on the man, she had him help her to the nearby wounded. She had one of the biotic fields in her pack – only one, but it would have to do.  
  
“Gather the wounded around me.” She ordered. She worried that the floor wouldn’t hold their weight so tightly, so she made sure the mostly healthy moved away from them as soon as they were able. Once the wounded were all in place, she activated the biotic field. It wouldn’t help the broken bones, but all of their lacerations – with the exception of any fatal wounds, of which she could see none – would be fixed. Between the field and the judicious use of her healing stream, all of them were on their feet within minutes.  
  
“We have to evacuate the building. It isn’t safe here.” Angela ordered the group around her, slightly breathless around the throbbing in her torso. While she wasn’t a battlefield commander – and technically this would classify as a combat zone – this was the Zürich base. Within these walls, she was a power that answered only to Jack, and they would all listen to her. “We need to split up. I have to get to the basement – you two will come with me.” She selected at random, creating groups to search for remaining survivors during this short lull in destruction.  
  
“Be safe, all of you. Don’t take any unnecessary risks and move carefully.” Angela cautioned as they moved to separate. Most were heading downstairs, but one group was heading back upstairs – if there was still an upstairs – while the another was to clear what they could reach of this floor before moving down as well.  
  
Unsurprisingly, the stairwells – where they existed – were clogged with people; Angela swept the scene with her eyes, and realized there weren’t as many people as she’d hoped, which meant many were trapped or dead. Most of the people she could see were the support staff who were unfamiliar with combat. They were, understandably, panicked – but the handful of agents kept them moving and from making the evacuation efforts even harder by shoving and stampeding. She hoped that there were other agents sifting through the rubble, looking for survivors as best they could.  
  
Her uniform helped her move more quickly against the tide of people, but it was still slow going. Many asked her what was happening, if she knew anything, but she had to confess she was just as in the dark as the rest. By the time she reached the basement, she was exhausted, her chest throbbing in time with her heart – but she had to keep going. There were separate exits for the basement – considering they funneled wounded from everywhere, it was unsurprising. Angela ordered one soldier to the infirmary and the other to the research division to aid in the evacuation before stumbling along to her office. There were items there she would need – not only for her own sake but for Overwatch’s and those she hoped to still save.  
  
Moving quickly, she grabbed the holodisk that held most of her life’s work. She had many of these disks throughout the base, for the unlikely case that the base was attacked – like now. Her rooms, the command center, and her office were just three areas that a copy could be found, hidden away carefully so that intruders would overlook it. This one had been hidden among the handful of photos that were on her desk. She tucked it into her catsuit, not willing to risk it being separated from her by leaving it in the pack. Then she grabbed her key ring, so she could have access to any and all supplies she might be able to salvage, and swept out of the room. There were so many keepsakes that she wanted – the photo of her parents, the prototype of the caduceus staff – but she couldn’t afford to be sentimental. When the dust settled, she’d recover whatever survived.  
  
Angela went to the infirmary as another explosion rocked the building – even here, in the basement, she could feel the tremor. There hadn’t been any patients in the ward when she’d done her rounds earlier in the day and many of those that served here had combat experience, so she was unsurprised to find it empty. She opened the supply cabinet and grabbed whatever she could fit in the pack – gauze, needles and thread, and some pain killers were the primary items she tucked away. Soon the pack was mostly full, and she fastened it shut again before rushing to the research division.  
  
It was chaos here; none of these personnel were military trained, and it showed. The two soldiers she’d brought with her were still working through this side, and she quickly moved to help them and Winston. Together, the four of them managed to bully them all into some semblance of coherency. Angela left the three of them to complete the task; Winston wanted to stay with her, but she forced him to leave with the rest after pressing the holodisk into his hand. She was heading on a suicide mission; no one else needed to come along for it, and besides the research personnel needed someone they were familiar with to watch over them.  
  
She grabbed one last thing from the basement level: five syringes of a concentrated nanoserum that should, in theory, save a person that was beyond normal means of saving. It hadn’t been tested on humans – but at this point, if she stumbled upon someone that needed this level of care, would it hurt?  
  
Angela moved up the stairs again, taking them two and three at a time even as it left her shaking and breathless. Most of the Overwatch auxiliary personnel that could move had cleared the building. All that would remain were the trapped and those who, like her, were searching for those who could be saved. Now that her first duty – her staff – had been seen to, she rushed to reach the command center on the fifth floor. She had to make sure Jack was okay – not only was he their Commander, but a selfish need, as he was one of her oldest and dearest friends.   
  
The damage was worst on the fifth floor – which led her to believe the attacks were focused here.  
  
“Jack?!” She called, searching as best she could through the rubble. It was dangerous, slow work; the entire structure was one sneeze away from collapsing and still she searched. She hadn’t found any survivors. There had been many bodies – they appeared to have died in the initial blast and collapse – but there had also been places where it was obvious that a body had been but was no longer. Hopefully he had been one of those that had escaped – but, knowing Jack, he would be searching – like she was – for survivors.  
  
Just as she was about to turn back to move to another floor, she stumbled – literally – upon a surprising body.  
  
“Gabriel?” His named tumbled from her lips unbidden, a quiet question that held no answer. She couldn’t think of any reason for him to have been at Zürich base today, considering he usually told her when he was coming for a visit – and yet there he lay. For one long, agonizing moment, she feared he was dead. How could he have survived what had happened here? The damage in this area was so horrible that she was nearly certain that she stood nearly upon the very site that final blast had gone off. Then she saw his chest lift – barely, but there was movement – and she snapped out of her stupor. If she didn’t act now, he would certainly die here – and she would never forgive herself if she let that happen.  
  
She knelt and slung her pack off her back, eyes roving his body as she tried to find the most urgent wound to care for. It wasn’t long before her hands were on him, mentally cataloging the horrific gashes and burns strewn across his body as she settled in to work.  
  
“A-Angela…” Her name on his lips was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. She couldn’t help the short, selfish pause as she freed one hand to cup his cheek, to revel in the fact that he was somehow alive and conscious.  
  
“Hush, Gabe, please.” She murmured to him. He needed his strength and stubborn will to keep himself on this side of the living. He was worse off than anyone she had ever saved – and that was including Genji – and she didn’t have the luxury of a fully stocked operating room to save him. She would need all of her tricks to save him from the wounds she could see across his body. “I’ll fix this, don’t worry.” Angela assured him, remaining outwardly confident even as she worried that he would die this time, that she wouldn’t be enough the one time it really, truly, counted.  
  
“N-No… please…” Angela wanted to cry. He’d never asked her to let him go, not like this. He’d always been so certain of her skills, been confident he’d survive whatever life would throw at him – and with Angela on his side to fix up the worst of it, he probably wasn’t wrong. Still, she wouldn’t let his words sway her. She would save him. She could do no less.  
  
“Please, hold on Gabe.” Angela begged in return as she turned to her pack. Her eyes were stinging with unshed tears, but there was no time for them. “Hold on for me.” Even if he wanted to die from the pain, she hoped his love for her would help to tether him on the side of the living. She’d need all the help she could get to keep him with her. When she turned back, his eyes were closed and she panicked again.  
  
“Gabe?” Her voice was shrill to her own ears and she was shaking from the mixture of fear, sorrow, and adrenaline coursing through her. She reached out to feel for a pulse, because she couldn’t tell if he was still breathing. He had to be, he _had_ to be. Relief shot through her, sweet and short lived, as she found his pulse. “Gabriel, are you still awake?” She wouldn’t be surprised if he had passed out again from the pain and blood loss.  
  
“I’m here.” She thought she was imagining it, but when she glanced at his face she found him looking back at her. He was clearly dazed and disoriented from the shock, but his conscious face was the most beautiful thing she’d seen. She couldn’t help her smile of pure joy and relief; if he was still conscious like this with such wounds, he could be saved, she was nearly certain of it.  
  
“Stay with me, Gabe. Stay with me.” The words were an order and a plea. He had to walk away from this; he had to. She had to fix him – that was all there was to it. Practiced hands drew out the tools she would need. Her healing stream was set up for the lesser wounds on his legs, and then she was stitching him shut. It was bloody work and she had to work fast – even now she could hear the building groaning around them under the sounds of some poor soul screaming in pain, hoping someone would find them before it was too late – so that she could get him out of here. It was definitely not her best work by far, but as long as the stitches held and kept his blood and organs where it was supposed to be, it didn’t matter if they looked pretty.  
  
Still, even with all the stitches, gauze, and nanobots, he was still gray and ashen – and nothing she was doing seemed to make it better. Unfortunately, a transfusion was one of many things she wasn’t equipped for. Once she’d exhausted the very few measures she had at her disposal, she swept an assessing eye over him again. He was still bleeding sluggishly around some of her stitching, but his breathing was more labored than she’d liked and the nanobots were working slowly – which was indicative of more trauma that she wasn’t able to see (or treat) at this time. She only had one trick left – and she wasn’t sure if it was the best idea. She had no idea what it would do to him, but at this rate she’d lose him – and she couldn’t bear the thought. Making her mind up all at once, she grabbed one of the syringes with the nanoserum inside.  
  
“Take a deep breath.” The words were sharp and were meant to cut through whatever haze he was currently drifting in. She wasn’t sure what would happen once she started, and she needed to make sure he had oxygen in his lungs before anything else happened. “Now, Gabe; deep breath!” She practically shouted it at him, and he was startled enough to suck in a lungful of air. Once she gauged that they had filled completely, she stabbed the needle into his chest. He jerked in shock before arching up against her as she released the serum slowly. She pressed her weight against him, forcing him back against the ground as she emptied the syringe.  
  
“Breathe, Gabe, keep breathing.” She was speaking over his desperate gasps; she could see the panic on his face and the struggle his body was in. “You’re going to be fine, please, please, stay with me. Keep breathing, it’ll be all over soon.” She was babbling but she couldn’t seem to help herself. The words poured forth almost of their own volition, but she kept the stream up – even after she noticed he had passed out from the pain. She tossed the syringe aside and pulled another; this one was deployed into his right arm. A third was released into his left leg. Hopefully by spreading it throughout the body it would take effect quickly – and hopefully the dosage wouldn’t kill him, but he needed the help if he was going to walk out of here alive.  
  
She set the third syringe aside and just stared at his chest rising and falling, praying that he would survive this ordeal. She couldn’t leave him here and he couldn’t move – so she stayed. After a moment she started bandaging what wounds she could, in attempt to help his broken body heal. Angela had no idea how much time had passed before she heard the familiar sound of a round chambering echoing around them. There was no reason for anyone on her side to be readying a gun – even if they didn’t recognize her face, her Valkyrie suit (such as it was) would easily identify her. Without hesitation Angela turned, placing herself bodily between where she believed the gunman to be and Gabriel; while she might not be the best fighter, she’d do her best to protect him from the enemy. Her fingers flew to the gun at her hip before pausing as she registered who stood before her.  
  
“Jack!” His name burst from her all at once, joy and relief filling her as she relaxed instinctively at the sight of him. Her eyes took in his form; she knew he was injured by the too-stiff way he held himself aloft – she’d been his doctor for too long not to recognize the signs. It wasn’t until her eyes swept back up his form that she realized he was still holding the gun.  
  
“Jack, please, put the gun down. It’s just me – it’s Angela.” Her voice was soft and her hands were spread carefully before her to show she wasn’t a threat. Though the gun trained on her was making her anxious, she didn’t let any of it show on her face or in her voice. She’d talked friends down before, when the pain and the memories got to be too horrible, but none of her friends had ever been so far gone to hold a gun on her. The last time she’d been in this position in the base had been years ago when Winston was still new to the organization.  
  
“Move, Angela.” The words were brusque and hard, a commander ordering his soldier. Angela stiffened at the tone, especially considering where they were and who was behind her. She suddenly was very aware that the gun wasn’t precisely pointed at _her_ – it was pointed at Gabriel behind her, just as those guns had been trained on Winston all those years ago; she just happened to be in the way. She knew that the relationship between the two men, her friend and her lover, had been strained for some time – but to come to this? They were practically _brothers_ ; she couldn’t imagine a world where Jack would be demanding her move aside so he could kill Gabriel. He had to be confused.  
  
“Put down the gun, Jack. Please. You’re hurt; let me take a look at you.” That was the only explanation she could think of. He’d hit his head and things had gotten jumbled up. He thought Gabriel was an enemy and that he was responsible for these things, he had to. There was no way Jack would believe Gabriel was capable of _this_ otherwise.  
  
“He betrayed us, Angela.” Angela shifted slightly, as if she’d turn to look at the man laying prone behind her, but she kept her eyes trained on the man holding the gun. “I need to end this.” The words were a growl, but she could see the pain this decision had caused him. This wasn’t a man who wanted to kill his friend – this was a commander making a hard decision to protect those under his care. She recognized the look, considering she’d seen it countless times during her time in Overwatch. Still, just because she understood where his decisions were coming from didn’t mean she would blindly follow orders – she’d never done so before, and she wasn’t planning to start now.  
  
“You must be mistaken.” Her voice was quiet and small. Angela trusted both of the men, before and behind her, with her life; she could never imagine either of them doing anything – _anything_ – that would hurt her, especially not Gabriel, not him. “Gabe would never – _never_ – betray us.” He would never betray her – and she was as much Overwatch as Jack was. He wouldn’t – he couldn’t – do something so heinous, not when it would shatter her. “Please, Jack.” She wasn’t sure what she was begging for, but the words slipped from her lips anyway.  
  
“Look around you, Angela! He’s the one that did this!” He was shouting now, his hands tightening on his gun to the point that his knuckles were turning white – and still she didn’t move. She’d made some foolish choices in the past, but she was certain that this wasn’t one of them. Even if Jack was right about everything, she still couldn’t make herself step aside. Angela couldn’t watch Jack kill Gabe – not when she knew that the very action would kill Jack, too. Instead, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin defiantly, changing from friend and lover to the formidable Dr. Ziegler that was respected across the world.  
  
“No, Jack. I can’t let you do this.” She’d protect him from himself – or die in the attempt. “Just – please, Jack, put the gun down.” If he didn’t disarm himself, she didn’t know what she would do. Angela was well aware he could move her with little effort, even in his current condition, and there was nothing she could do to stop him, but she had to try anyway.  
  
“He isn’t a threat, Jack – not right now, not after… after what happened. He’s not even conscious.” She couldn’t even risk a glance behind her to see if that was still true, or to even assure herself that he wasn’t dead from his injuries or the serum she’d pumped into him. “Arrest him if you must, but you can’t kill him Jack.” The blonde man scoffed and took a step forward, closing the gap between them to end the argument.  
  
“You aren’t a murderer, Jack!” The words exploded from her. “He’s unarmed, unconscious – you _can’t_ Jack. Please, _please_ , don’t do this.” If that couldn’t get through to him, make him see sense, she knew she’d lost the argument.  
  
“Don’t make me hurt you, Angela.” It was his turn to beg, but still he held the gun. If he were to pull the trigger, the bullet would rip through her abdomen before – potentially – passing through to hit Gabriel behind her. Once that first bullet hit, her already shaky knees would give out and Jack would finish what he started. “Let me end this here and now.” He wanted to do it now, she knew, before he could change his mind. If given enough time, he might hesitate to pull that trigger.  
  
“Don’t make me choose between you.” Angela begged, and it was only by digging her nails into her palm and biting sharply on the inside of her cheek that she managed to keep herself from crying. She had made it clear to Gabriel, long ago, that she’d love him regardless of if he wore the Overwatch uniform or the Blackwatch one. The two organizations work together towards the same end; it shouldn’t affect anything – but if she was forced to choose, she always wondered what she would do. Would she pick Overwatch – Jack? Or Blackwatch – Gabriel?  
  
Now that she was faced with such a harrowing decision, she found she couldn’t decide. She didn’t know what was right and what was true. Did Gabriel do this – and if so, was it a malicious attack or a calculated one? Was it someone else? If Gabriel was guilty, who were they to play judge and executioner? He wasn’t hostile – he might not even be alive. Killing him now would be murder, regardless of whatever crime he had committed against Overwatch.  
  
The decision wasn’t hard – she’d made it long ago, after all. She took that final step forward, pressing her body against the muzzle of his gun. He looked at her in shock, and it was all she could do to hold such a dangerous position.  
  
“I’m not moving, Jack.” Her voice was quiet, but she was resolute in her choice. “If you want to kill him, you’ll have to go through me.” He stared at her, shocked that she would make such a choice.  
  
“You’d choose him over Overwatch? He _murdered_ countless Overwatch agents – he tried to kill _me_! How can you protect him?” She could see how betrayed he felt, that not only his brother but she – his last friend, his healer, his sister – would turn on him as well. And yet, she stood there, defiantly shielding the last shreds of his humanity.  
  
“I’m not choosing him over _anything_ , Jack.” Not really, at any rate – at least, she didn’t think so. “I’m protecting _you_ from yourself. If it were you laying on the ground and Gabriel standing where you are, I’d protect you, too.” She could never turn her back on either of them. She’d save them both, no matter the cost. They were all she had left. “He _will_ answer to his crimes – whatever they are – but killing him here and now is wrong. Overwatch doesn’t believe in vigilante justice.” It would hurt to see him tried and punished, but it would kill her to stand by and watch him die.  
  
“Ang—” before he could start whatever argument he had left, a long, low groan filled the air. The two glanced around, trying to determine where the sound was coming from. The roof above them – destabilized by the blast – was cracking above them and would clearly give way any second. “You have to get out of here Angela!” He ordered, finally lowering the gun so he could shove her along.  
  
“I can’t leave you – or him.” At worst he would shoot Gabriel – and at best he’d leave Gabriel to die. Both options were reprehensible to her, but she wasn’t sure what else she could do. The choice was taken from her as the roof began to give and Jack shoved her through a nearby doorway. Unfortunately for her, the floor was missing and down she fell with a scream. Her Valkyrie suit had been damaged in her original fall, but it was still functional enough to slow her fall to something survivable as she fell four floors.  
  
The landing still hurt, almost as bad as her first fall – worse, actually, because she hadn’t been injured the first time around. She was certain at least five of her ribs were broken – but between the nanobots in her own body and the Valkyrie suit, she couldn’t feel it. Angela struggled to breathe; between the panic of the fall, the injuries she sustained but couldn’t feel, the loss of Overwatch, and the greater loss of Gabriel – _oh, Gabriel_ – and Jack, it was a wonder she wasn’t a broken, sobbing mess. But she’d always been able to shove her emotions to the backburner to allow logic to take the front. She’d pay for it later – she always did – but she couldn’t afford to be an emotional wreck in the ashes, no matter how appealing that might be.  
  
She struggled to her feet, using the rubble itself to prop herself up. The damage must be much worse than anticipated. Coupled with the injuries she’d sustained earlier, it was a wonder she was even on her feet. It was slow going, even without her injuries. She had no way of knowing what path was the right one: some had their floors missing – or so unstable that they might as well be missing – while others were so thoroughly blocked that she had no choice but to turn aside.  
  
Angela had no idea how long she struggled alone before emergency responders found her. They didn’t come upon her suddenly; she’d heard them moving along and called and shouted hoarsely to them, drawing them closer so that they could lead her to safety. She was a broken and bloody mess, but she had survived.  
  
She was all that remained of Overwatch – and now she would stand for them all.

_  
Freeze.  
  
_

Though she’d tried to stay quiet, he’d heard the soft echoes of her footsteps as she moved down the staircase. He was surprised to hear only one set of footsteps, but then again it was probably some homeless fool that had stumbled into the lions’ den. Most steered clear of his latest base – the transients usually looked out for one another, and word spread quickly – but sometimes there was one that decided to press their luck.  
  
When they reached the landing, he moved quickly. Acting mostly on instinct, he had the intruder pressed against the wall without truly seeing them. So, when he focused on the person before him, he discovered he’d captured an angel.  
  
Gabriel wanted to release her instantly, as if the very touch of her burned; she couldn’t be allowed to see him. She’d figure it out – she wasn’t an idiot. All his work at hiding, avoiding her, was about to be shot to hell because she’d decided to explore an abandoned shack in the middle of Mexico. _Why_ was she even here? There was no reason for a doctor – for _her_ – to be down here.  
  
Even so, the sight of her dressed for battle belied the reason she was here. She was here for him, and the thought nearly brought him to his knees.  
  
The Reaper was stronger, after all these years. Instead of releasing Angela’s throat, he shifted his grip slightly to tilt her head up. The claws at the end of each finger dug cruelly into her skin; undoubtedly she’d be left with bruises, if she was left alive at all. He was confident in the anonymity the mask provided him – and he sounded nothing like the Gabriel she had once known. He could feel her heartbeat picking up beneath his hands; good, she was scared. She should be. It was obvious to him that Mercy was on the prowl, considering how she was dressed. Her, hunting – now that was laughable. Even in her prime she was no match for him.  
  
She never should have come alone.  
  
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The words were a low, drawn out growl. He couldn’t help running the tip of one clawed finger down her cheek – and it was impossible to determine if the desire was Gabriel’s or the Reapers’. “Dr. Ziegler. To what do I owe the… pleasure?”

\---

She shouldn’t have been surprised to find someone down here – that was the whole reason she was here, after all. This was why she should have waited for McCree; he _never_ would have been taken unawares. Considering she no longer worked for a paramilitary organization, she had fallen out of practice – not that she’d been terribly good when she was _in_ practice. Her safety was always, primarily, in someone else’s hands when she was in the field. Angela had grown complacent and lazy in her new life; she’d thought she would be capable of handling this, but nothing was further from the truth.  
  
What she _was_ surprised by – and terrified of – was who had captured her. Her eyes widened as she realized exactly who she was facing – and then the realization washed over her. She was going to die here. Of all the people she expected to come face to face with, the notorious _Reaper_ was truly nowhere near the top. While she’d never had an occasion to cross his path – before now – she’d heard enough of him to recognize him on sight.  
  
Now she was captured, the Reapers’ hostage – and if McCree wasn’t quick, she would be the next in the series of murders.  
  
“Well, well. What do we have here?” The man growled after a long, tense silence. The tip of one clawed finger ran down her cheek slowly, tauntingly. “Dr. Ziegler. To what do I owe the… pleasure?” She trembled in his grasp. He hadn’t drawn any of his weapons yet – but his grip proved that, for her, he wouldn’t need one. He could so easily squeeze the life from her without a second thought. She still held her pistol, but it sat pinned beneath his other hand against her stomach.  
  
“R-Reaper…” She stammered. Her throat was dry, and fear had made her quieter than normal – and that was before his hold on her throat. The once proud Angela Ziegler – Mercy – would have had more bravado, but she was suddenly very aware of her fragility and mortality.  
  
Her only hope, at this point, was to stall long enough for McCree to save her. She cleared her throat and tried to gather herself, to become the woman she once was.  
  
“You’ve been killing my people.” The words came out more accusatory than was _probably_ wise, considering her current position. A low laugh rumbled through him, and she doesn’t know if it’s a precursor to her death or a sign that he’ll keep her around for a little while longer.  
  
“ _Your_ people?” He taunted. “You don’t _have_ any people, _doctor_.” The words stung and she couldn’t suppress her sharp gasp. The man holding her couldn’t realize how close to the mark he had hit, because she _didn’t_ have any people, not anymore. She hadn’t helped the reformation of Overwatch – she still wasn’t sure it should come back, even after these years. She wasn’t sure if she could handle it if she rejoined; to be “Overwatch” without Ana had been hard enough, but without Jack or Gabriel either? It would tear her apart.  
  
No, she was alone now – by choice and by circumstance. She could rejoin, have a place once more, but she couldn’t handle the thought. And she so rarely saw her old friends after the Fall. She had no one. Still, she couldn’t allow the sentiment to rattle her right now; later – if she had a later – she could process it.  
  
“Let me rephrase, then.” The words were cool, her face as stony as she could make it. “You’ve been killing ex-Overwatch members.”  
  
“And if I have?” Suddenly her oxygen was cut off as he squeezed her throat tighter. His mask was suddenly in her face. “What could you possibly do to stop me?” If he didn’t release her soon, she’d pass out. Not from lack of oxygen, but from the lack of blood flow. She’d only have seconds before she was completely defenseless.

\---

Her stunned response meant one of two things: either she didn’t expect to be caught unawares or she hadn’t realized she was searching for him. Considering her inherent lack of stealth – angel wings really _weren’t_ the best apparel for sneaking around – he could only imagine it was the latter.  
  
He couldn’t imagine why she would be hunting alone at any rate, _regardless_ of who she expected to find at the end. She wasn’t a killer – she’d always left those things to others: him, Jack, or any of the other killers that were numbered among her friends. He couldn’t even think of a person she’d killed off the top of his head – not with that blaster of hers, anyway.  
  
“You’ve been killing my people.” And there was the Angela he’d once known. Strong and stubborn, regardless of the situation. She’d bullied her way onto battlefields with that same tone and determination. Gabriel wanted to smile to see that woman again; she’d been missed in these past years. The Reaper thought her defiance was funny, as if an ant like her could keep from being crushed beneath his boot.  
  
“ _Your_ people?” He couldn’t help but say. “You don’t _have_ any people, _doctor_.” The words were crueler for the truth behind them. He’d looked in on her from time to time, had known what life she’d held after the Fall. She gasped as the words hit home, and he felt a small niggling bit of guilt for the pain he caused. The guilt faded away quickly; she’d done _this_ to him. She could stand to feel a little pain at his hands.  
  
“Let me rephrase, then.” She’d masked off her pain. There was a time when she’d confide in him – but of course he was the enemy now, not that she knew who he really was. “You’ve been killing ex-Overwatch members.” She laid the blame, rightfully, at his feet. The Reaper still found humor in the whole situation; she was probably one of the least dangerous people in the world – certainly the least dangerous he knew, personally – and he was the most dangerous.  
  
“And if I have?” His hand tightened on her throat, enough to send her into a panic. He took in the expression as he leaned closer. “What could you possibly do to stop me?”  
  
He had only three choices before him, now. Either release her – at least enough to allow her to breathe – or let her fall unconscious. If he released her it could lead to questions he couldn’t bear to answer – or a fight she would never win. If he rendered her unconscious, he could strip what he needed from the house and leave before she woke. It was the best decision he could make – it avoided awkward questions and he wouldn’t have to decide if he truly wanted her dead. Or he could kill her, and finally escape the hold she had on him.  
  
The decision was as easy as breathing; he’d knock her out and leave her here. He couldn’t kill her – not even after everything that had happened to him at her hands. She was all that was left of an ideal he’d tried to protect; if he could, he’d continue to protect it in his own way.  
  
But, apparently, Angela had other ideas. She shifted and then pulled the trigger of her little blaster.  
  
He released her suddenly, stepping back to rake his eyes worriedly over her form. He hadn’t been shot – between his grip and her fading strength it would have been nearly impossible, not considering the fact that he didn’t feel any wounds – but she might have been. It wouldn’t be the first time she’d have been injured – he’d seen her scars and had carried her, broken and bloody, from battlefields – but it would be the first time she’d _literally_ shot herself.

\---

She gasped, one hand reaching up to touch her throat gingerly – she’s definitely going to have bruises and wouldn’t _that_ stir up gossip? – while the other lifted her pistol steadily to point at him. She isn’t sure it will hold him back – she isn’t even sure why he stopped, since it’s fairly obvious she didn’t shoot him. She isn’t sure _what_ she shot, if she’s being honest. It doesn’t really matter though; neither of them were injured – at least, not by the gun in her hand – and she was still at a severe disadvantage, even if he was a step away from her.  
  
“I’ll do whatever I have to,” she panted. Angela dropped her hand from her throat and straightened defiantly. “I have to protect them.” It was her last calling, the oath carved into her heart and stained with the blood of the friends that came before. She had shielded them all – living and dead – from the IJC inquisition. She had done what she could under the PETRAS act to care for those that remained after the Fall. Now she would stand between them and the Reaper, if that was what it took, to protect them.  
  
It wasn’t the smartest move she’d made, but now that she was here, she would do her duty. If she died here, well. At least she would see her friends again. That was her only solace as she stood before Death personified.  
  
“You can’t even protect yourself.” He snarled at her. “Put that away before you hurt yourself.” She scoffed. Even if her aim was horrible and it probably would do little to slow him, she’d be a fool to put away her only piece of protection.  
  
It was curious, though, that he hadn’t capitalized on her weakness to recapture her. He wasn’t far – he could probably rip the gun from her hand from where he stood – but she had a little space to maneuver. Too bad the space was too confined to spread her wings and escape – which she needed to do soon. She wasn’t fooling anyone; there was no way she could stand up against the man before her. Escape was her best – and, truly, only – option at this point.  
  
She shouldn’t have let her pride blind her into coming alone.  
  
She couldn’t let herself die here, though. For one, she didn’t want to put Jesse in such a position; the others would blame him for her death, even if she was the fool that charged in blindly. For another she still had much to do; with Overwatch on the rise again she wanted – no, needed – to make sure her friends would be safe.  
  
“I may not be a soldier, but I’d be a fool to put my gun away.” And while people could say – and had said – a lot about her, no one could call her a fool. She was widely recognized as a genius, after all.  
  
“You really think that little gun of yours will stop me?” His head tilted to the side as he considered her. The longer she kept him at bay, the longer she had to think – but all she could think of was to escape. She needed to leave.  
  
“One can hope.” She responded noncommittally.  
  
Without warning, she bolted into action. He was still, which meant she had a good chance of hitting him; her trouble had always come most from moving targets. She squeezed off two rounds at his form in rapid succession before turning and rushing for the stairs. Hopefully the surprise would gain her enough ground to at least get out of the building.  
  
Before she could reach the stairs, a shadow coalesced before them. She had no idea what it was, but she didn’t stop. After all, she’d just shot the Reaper – and he was likely to have taken great offense to it. Imagine her surprise when she slammed full tilt into the Reaper’s chest as he solidified before her. It was only his hands grabbing her arms that kept her from falling backwards, but nothing could suppress the startled scream that erupted from her throat.  
  
Was she in some sort of horror film? What the hell was this… man? creature?  
  
There was no escape from a man that could become shadows.

 _  
I’m breakable, unbreakable.  
_ _I’m shaking yet unshakeable.  
  
_

It wasn’t the first time she’d sat in this padded chair – or one very similar to it – before the many representatives of the IJC, though only a few judges would actually be speaking to her. When her medical decisions came to question, it was here that she was brought – no medical association could hold her accountable, considering she did work across the globe. For any other inquiries against Overwatch, the commanding core – Jack, Ana, and Gabriel (which had slowly whittled down to just Jack over time) – would be the one in her current position.  
  
It was the first time she was here without the strength of her friends. The first time _she_ was called to task for Overwatch’s actions – but without the others, she was all that was left to answer for Overwatch.  
  
It had been a week since the fall of Zürich base, and, while her body was still battered and broken, she had left the hospital she’d been admitted to. Even though she’d been tasked with rest after being treated, she was never one to sit idle. Besides, she had known what was to come. So many of the command, those directly under Jack, had been killed in the blast that she was unsurprised when she was called to task. She had been one of Jacks’ closest confidants in the end – even if she wasn’t in the direct chain of military command.  
  
She’d chosen her outfit carefully with the short amount of time she’d been given. Her Valkyrie suit was out of the question, considering it was in pieces. It was a shame, because she could use a bit of familiarity and power. Instead, she was wearing a pair of hastily purchased black slacks, a simple button-up white blouse, black boots that had a vague combat feel to them, and a white lab coat. To tie it all together, she’d found her Overwatch badge in her pack – one of the few things she had left to her name – and had pinned it to her lapel for all the world to see.  
  
“You are Angela Ziegler?” A Hispanic woman to her right asked, the Tribunal starting without any warning. That she left off her proper title, robbing her of what little power she had in this room, set her hackles up. She knew it was purposeful, but she couldn’t help but take the bait.  
  
“I am _Doctor_ Angela Ziegler, acting Commander of Overwatch in this crisis and Chief of Medicine and Research.” The blonde responded sharply. While she may have adopted the role of Commander recently (and without any _real_ authority), she did possess all those titles. It didn’t matter that she loathed the moniker – in fact, she genuinely couldn’t wait to pass it on to someone more qualified – she would not allow these people to reduce her ability to protect her charges.  
  
“I don’t recall anyone promoting you, _Doctor_.” Angela raised one eyebrow.  
  
“I don’t recall the UN promoting _anyone_ ; it would appear that they have been rather silent during our time of need.” Aside from the relief aid in the form of food and money for shelter, Overwatch had been mostly adrift. They had plenty of time to prepare for this meeting – it would have taken less time to assign a new commander. It wasn’t like what she had done was a secret, either. While she had many detractors for her current command, Angela was the only one with the political knowhow to deal with the people she sat before and keep them all afloat. “We needed a leader; when one wasn’t promoted, I stepped up. It’s not like I’m a stranger to leadership.”  
  
There wasn’t much to be said to refute that. Angela might not want to be a military leader, but she could govern the organization until a better leader could be found. She had already surrounded herself with individuals to keep things steady – or as steady as they could be – until a better solution could be found. They acknowledged that, but it was heavily impressed upon her that her position would be temporary. She had no complaints; the sooner the better in her opinion.  
  
“Dr. Ziegler, do you know why we have called you before us today?” The woman asked, as if anyone in this room – in the world, even – was unaware of why the blonde was sitting before them. She was carefully _not_ sarcastic to this room of officials, even if the answer was obvious.  
  
“I believe you have questions regarding the attack on Zürich base. Considering the Commander and his immediate subordinates are all deceased, I am the highest ranking member of Overwatch you have to question – and that was before I became _interim_ Commander.” Angela had practiced reciting the fact that her friends – specifically Jack and Gabriel – were dead, over and over to herself, until she could say it without stumbling or flinching. She knew this hearing would occur and she knew what facts would be touted before her; she couldn’t lose her composure so soon. There would be time for that later; for now, she was the calm, cold Dr. Ziegler that had stood on countless battlefields and had weighed life against life. She’d walk away from this, too.  
  
“That is correct.” Papers were shuffled, prolonging the silence as the members before her searched for what they wanted to say next. Angela doubted they hadn’t planned every second of this; they’d had a full week to prepare for this, after all. She leaned back in her chair, one knee crossed over the other, and clasped her hands in her lap – the very picture of patience.  
  
“Where were you during this… attack?” An Englishman to her left asked, hesitating over the world ‘attack’ as if he believed something different.  
  
“The Commander had given me orders to join a strike team to help contain the fighting in Milan. We were delayed in leaving and were instead instructed to wait on the seventh floor until we had transport.” She went on to describe the next terrifying hours, working carefully through the story to ensure she was clear and calm through the telling. She did hesitate over the part where Jack had appeared, but she told the story faithfully. She wasn’t here to lie.  
  
“Why would Commander Morrison do such a thing – in your opinion?” Angela paused, remembering the terror and resolve she’d felt while standing between his gun and Gabriel.  
  
“There had been unrest these last months between Blackwatch and Overwatch – and the Commanders that led them. Perhaps it was this… negative, recent history that caused Commander Morrison,” Jack was too familiar for these people and for her recent bereavement, “to believe the worst of Commander Reyes.” Angela shrugged, then winced as the motion flared pain through her chest. “He could have sustained a head injury in the chaos, which caused this belief. I could not say for certain, as he did not provide any tangible proof before… we parted.”  
  
“Do you believe Commander Reyes would attack the Zürich base?” This time it was the man directly before her that spoke.  
  
“I cannot speak for what Commander Reyes would or would not do.” Angela responded crisply. “I can speak for what I know of his character. He would never – _never_ – betray Overwatch or Blackwatch. He fought during the Crisis and he helped build the organizations as they were. He and the Strike Commander were brothers; no matter their recent history, I cannot believe he’d betray Commander Morrison that way.”  
  
“Would he betray you?” The blonde raised one eyebrow; the relationship between her and Gabe had been an open secret for years.  
  
“Never.” She was resolute in her belief; no matter how Gabriel had felt about the politics or Jack, he’d never betray either of them; Gabriel had loved both of them too much for that.  
  
“Interesting.” There was a long silence again as they all took in her words and decided where they would go next. Finally, the man in the center spoke once more.  
  
“We recovered footage from just before the attack.” Angela stiffened, ignoring how her body screamed at the action; if they knew what had happened, why were they interrogating her in such a way? Just as quickly, she went cold. There was only reason for their line of questioning: they were now trying to determine her own credibility. Numbly, she turned to the video footage that was being projected on a nearby screen. It was silent, but there was no need for audio when they could all clearly see proof of Gabriel planting the explosive charges.  
  
She hadn’t planned for such proof to be placed before her. Even if they had been certain of Gabriel’s fault, she hadn’t thought any video had survived to prove it beyond all saving. Her hands raised over their own volition to cover her gaping mouth as she watched, horrified, as Jack caught Gabriel planting final explosives in the Command Center – which shortly led to the explosions that shattered her world.  
  
It took all she had to force her emotions down; she was a doctor and had faced calamity before. She would not cry here, before these people.  
  
“As you can see, Doctor Ziegler, Commander Reyes _did_ betray you, Commander Morrison, and all of Overwatch.” The Hispanic woman commented, almost smugly. Angela raised her chin. There was nothing she could say to protect Gabriel from himself. Even if she believed that he would never betray Overwatch, Jack, or her – the video was damning. There was no reason she could think of that he would destroy everything they’d worked so hard for that didn’t lead to treason.  
  
They grilled her over Gabriels’ recent actions. With this newfound evidence, could she think of any warning signs that he was going to destroy the base? No – he hadn’t appeared any more concerned with the comings and goings of Overwatch than normal, that she could recall. Could he have been a Talon spy? Not that she thought, but even she could admit that there was little other reason to destroy Zürich base without working for a terrorist cell of some kind. Did she think that any of his subordinates would have collaborated with him? Perhaps – but if they had, why weren’t they on site to help with the destruction and destabilization?  
  
“Not even Agents Genji or McCree?” Angela stiffened at the names of two more familiar friends; McCree had been Gabriel’s right hand for several years now. In fact, he was just outside this room, waiting for her.  
  
“Especially not them. They owed more to Overwatch than even Gabriel; they would sooner rip out their hearts than betray Overwatch.” Genji had been put back together by her after a harrowing experience with his brother and McCree had been saved from his past in more ways than one. “Besides, from what I recall, those two were on a mission in South Korea at the time; there’s not a single terroristic threat that exists on this level in that part of the world.” Angela said the words confidently – they were back on track with information she and Winston had already put together prior to this meeting.  
  
“You are rather sure of yourself; what does an Overwatch researcher need to know about Blackwatch operations?” The words were clearly meant to discredit her own character and loyalty. If she were so aware of the comings and goings of Blackwatch, who could say if she really was – or wasn’t – in collusion with Gabriel to destroy Overwatch?  
  
“I am Overwatch’s Chief of Medicine, which puts me at the top of all things medical – above even Commander Morrison, at times. Research and surgery; I hold the final say on everything. Ever since I performed surgery on the late Commander Bianchi years ago, I have held limited access to Blackwatch rosters for medical purposes, as they do not have a medical division like Overwatch does. Many of their agents – to include Agents McCree and Genji – are my patients; I was the lead doctor in both Agent McCree’s amputation and Agent Genji’s… reanimation. Their actions are very much my concern, and I was the one that approved them for fieldwork.” It was her honor to shield as many as she could, both on and off the battlefield; Genji and Jesse would not fall to this inquisition.  
  
“You were very certain of Commander Reyes; how can you be so certain about Agents McCree and Genji?” Angela paused at that; it was a very good question. Until she saw the proof with her own eyes, she’d never have believed Gabriel had done what he had. Could Jesse or Genji have done the same as her lover?  
  
“Unless you have proof of their misdeeds, I believe their character speaks for itself. They have worked closely with Overwatch in the past with minimal issues – unlike countless other Blackwatch agents, Commander Reyes included. They were nowhere near either Overwatch or Blackwatch bases and had no reason to be in South Korea except for the mission they were sent on by their Commander, regardless of what that Commander later did. I couldn’t say, as I don’t have access to the _why_ or the _what_ of their mission, just the where.” Angela spread her hands, as if apologizing – but she was anything but apologetic. She easily could have gotten the information from Jesse or Genji, but she had chosen to remain ignorant.  
  
“You may have a point.” The leader conceded. She inclined her head regally.  
  
That didn’t mean they had exhausted the point of the Blackwatch agents – to include Genji and Jesse. They went on to inquire about several other Blackwatch agents that may – or may not – have played a part in the attack. Many she had to admit limited or no knowledge of; she may have access to medical records, but unless she had a vested interest – like with Jesse and Genji – she couldn’t be relied upon to remember one of thousands of agents she’d read about.  
  
“And then there’s the question of _your_ loyalty, Doctor Ziegler.” Angela bristled at that; what did they mean, her loyalty?  
  
“My loyalty is, above all else, to Overwatch and the preservation of life.” She could not have one without the other; her life had made it nigh unthinkable.  
  
“And yet you were conveniently in the Zürich base during the attack, where you could help save the traitorous Commander Reyes." A man to her right stated, straightening some papers before him as he peered at her.  
  
"I was given an _order_ by Strike Commander Morrison, which can be proved by your video surveillance, I’m sure. I played no part in the planning or execution of the plot against Overwatch.” There was ice warmer than her tone. That they would question her honor, her _loyalty_ , after years of service; the actions of others did _not_ define her own, regardless of how closely held the others may be. She was a _doctor_ and had pledged countless oaths to protect her patients, and yet they dare to ask this of her? She slapped one hand over her Overwatch badge and yanked it forward to display it, drawing attention to it with the purposeful gesture.  
  
“I have served Overwatch faithfully for many years and have sat before this council more times than I can remember. I have saved countless lives through many avenues; I spearheaded innovative research to accelerate healing, I served on the frontline as a field medic and emergency responder, and I have spent countless hours in the operating room.” She was on a tangent, she needed to get back on course.  
  
“In the Overwatch bases, I answered _only_ to Commander Morrison. He gave me an order, and I followed it. That Commander Reyes decided to attack during that time is circumstantial at best. It could be argued that he was waiting for my unit to leave before attacking; the explosions occurred well after my team was supposed to be in the air for Milan. That I was there at all was a complete fluke, but it allowed my unit to help evacuate and reduce the casualties of that attack.” She dropped the badge back to hang haphazardly from her chest as she crossed her arms.  
  
“And yet, by your own admission, you tried to save Commander Reyes – and even stopped Commander Morrison from terminating him.” A cool voice to her right pointed out. Angela barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes.  
  
“I am a doctor. ‘First do no harm’. While I will be the first to admit that I have served my time on the battlefield and that my hands are as bloody as any agent of Overwatch, my first and primary calling is that of a doctor. I will protect and save the lives of anyone I can, regardless of their affiliations. It is well documented that I have nursed wounded hostages, prisoners, and other enemies alongside civilians and agents. As a doctor, my place is not to judge, but to heal.”  
  
It was several long-winded ‘discussions’ later that she was finally allowed to stand.  
  
She had managed to sufficiently defend her people from the heavy hand of the IJC. Gabriel was a traitor; there was no salvaging that, but she’d managed to protect those under him – to include herself and other key members of Overwatch – from being punished in his stead. Others would be questioned, of course, and she would be present for them as Jack and the others had supported her, but she had managed to protect a majority with her words.  
  
It had been stubbornness and pride that had her come in on her own two feet this morning; regardless of what she thought, she was still healing from her own ordeal. Her whole body ached from spending countless hours in that chair. Still, she strode out of the room with her shoulders back and chin up, the very picture of confidence even as her chest burned and throbbed. She needed to get away from this place, to somewhere she could relax and allow the emotions she’d shoved aside to pass over her in private.  
  
Just outside was Jesse and Lena, her honor guard for the day. The two were playing a card game, which paused the moment she stepped into the hall.   
  
“Everythin’ alright, then?” Lena asked, springing to her feet and scattering the cards about. Jesse grumbled under his breath and started to gather them all into a pile as Angela stopped before them.  
  
“As alright as it can be.” Angela assured her with as much confidence as she could muster. It wouldn’t be long before Gabriel’s betrayal would be widespread. “You both will be called to answer questions, of course.” At their startled looks, Angela was quick to assure them.  
  
“I’ll be with you the whole time. It won’t be as bad as today.” Hers was a special circumstance, after all. She wouldn’t be surprised if she was expected to have several more private hearings like this as their inquisition continued. “Unlike me, neither of you will be held accountable for Overwatch or Blackwatch.” The words were brittle, but she was unable to check her tone as well as she had before the tribunal. Just because she had placed herself in the line of fire didn’t mean she had to like it.  
  
“What happened?” Jesse was on his feet now, the cards tucked away somewhere as he looked her over – as if she’d sustained some sort of injury that needed to be triaged. His hand ghosted to his side where Peacekeeper normally rested out of habit – but guns weren’t allowed within the UN buildings.  
  
“I don’t want to talk about it here.” The words were smaller than she’d intended, and it drew both of her companions closer. Angela could have laughed if she hadn’t felt so brittle; there was nothing here they could protect her from. In all reality, she was the only one who could offer any sort of shelter from the coming storm – but she would have to weather it alone.  
  
“Whatever you need, love, just say the word.” Lena agreed. “Let’s get you h—out of here.” After the day she had, Angela was surprised she wasn’t moved to some sort of emotional outburst at the very real reminder that her home – _their_ home – was gone. Instead, she just nodded numbly and allowed the two to escort her away. If she leaned heavily on Jesse’s arm, well, neither of them pointed it out.

 _  
Until the day that you find me,  
_ _I’ll stand here existing and feeling wretched existence,  
_ _Consuming life force ‘til I grow distant.  
_ _Don’t bother searching for somebody like me, a fading no one.  
  
_

He’d known his actions would have consequences. He’d expected to die for them – living was so much harder, especially when he was a bystander to everything he once was. Overwatch and Blackwatch were gone – but that was for the best. Agents were scattered to the wind; he had planned so many of them to die, to take the corruption with them – and yet they survived on, like cockroaches. He’d have to deal with it at some point, but now he was struggling with the day-to-day he was suddenly gifted with – the life he hadn’t wanted to keep and wished he’d lost, if only to be spared the pain of it.  
  
It hurts more than he wants to admit that she didn’t look for him – even though she has no reason to believe he survived. He’d been little more than a corpse the last time she’d seen him, after all. With everything that had happened, when he hadn’t resurfaced, why would they assume he’d survive? Even if he’d escaped the rubble, he wouldn’t have survived his wounds if not for whatever Angela had injected him with. He should, by all rights, be dead.  
  
Some days he wished he was.  
  
He was supposed to have died – he’d planned for it to end with his death. Angela was supposed to be too far away to help, on some mission or another, because he knew she would always, _always_ , try to save her friends – and him especially. For whatever reason that hadn’t happened – and she’d been there to save his life, instead. Now he was the stuff of nightmares, and he hated her for it. If she could have just let him go, just _once_ , he wouldn’t have this cursed existence – and believed dead regardless.  
  
His body had never been found, and no one wondered. They just swept him under the rug, just like always. Resentment filled him – towards Overwatch, Talon, Jack, and even Angela. Especially Angela. Shame coursed through him, but that didn’t change his anger.  
  
If it had been her, he never would have stopped looking. He would search every corner of the globe if he needed to, until he had proof that she was dead. She should have looked for him – but instead she became a shadow of the woman she’d been in Overwatch. Once she had been a _power,_ answerable only to a handful of people – and her own conscience. She’d weighed life and death, the greater good, and had made decisions that had helped shape the world into what it was now. When Angela had made up her mind, had taken a stance, she would defend it come hell or high water. She’d always championed the common people and the underdogs; while he and Jack thought in terms of nations and armies, she’d ensured their positions would protect the helpless at all costs – regardless of the risk to herself or their agents.  
  
Now, she was continuing her medical research – but nothing more. While the UN and the IJC hadn’t stopped her work in any way – unlike Moira she followed the rules of man – it appeared she was unable to find work in Zürich that would allow her to be both a researcher and a doctor. She was still doing her work, but she was less than she had been; he worried, some days, that he had broken her irrevocably with the “death” of him and Jack.  
  
He was well aware that Jack’s body hadn’t been found either – and that made him wonder if Angela hadn’t pulled off two miracles that day. Had he crawled off to die, or was he wandering the globe like Gabriel was, a shadow of what he once was? Would Gabriel try to kill him if their paths crossed? Would Gabriel let Jack kill him to atone for his sins?  
  
He doubted he’d go without a fight; that wasn’t who he was – which was what made his current life so unbearable.  
  
He wanted to go to her, to show he was alive and take her in his arms once more. She should be looking for him, not burying her in a mind-numbing day-to-day while reliving memories. She should be _living_. He couldn’t live – not this half life he’d been cursed with in the aftermath of his choices – but she could. She should be living for both of them. Instead, she coasted along in misery.  
  
She hid it well, behind the exhaustion and the smiles she offered her friends – on the rare occasion she saw them these days – but he knew her better than that. She needed to leave Zürich, get away from the ghosts of her past – but she was stubborn, like she always had been. Everyone else was moving on and living, but she was stuck in the rut she’d been in before Overwatch had changed her life.  
  
There was no one left to realize that. No one that knew her from before was still in her life to realize it and help her.  
  
It made him ache for her – he, of all people, was learning what it was to live half a life and the misery it brought. It made him angry; how could she waste the life she still had, when he had nothing? It made him happy, in a twisted way – because she was miserable, just like he was.  
  
He loved her, so very much. He was glad she was alive for him to feel these things, to watch from afar to ensure she was as okay as she could be. She hadn’t moved on – from Overwatch, from her grief, from him – but he hadn’t expected her to. Not quickly, at any rate. They’d given her a life, and he’d stolen it away from her.  
  
He hated her, deep inside. She had done this to him. She’d saved him, she’d turned him into a monster – she’d done it on purpose, surely. She knew what he’d done and she’d punished him for it in the only way she knew how. He wanted to go to her, to throttle her until she _fixed him.  
  
_Her very being tore him up inside; he was at war with himself. He was a man, he was a ghost. He loved her, he hated her. He desperately clung to life, while he secretly prayed for his death. He loathed this thing he’d become – and the woman that had done this to him.

 _  
I don’t want to hurt you it’s not my nature.  
_ _A monster born from dusk to dawn can’t be your savior.  
  
_

“Going somewhere, doc?” The claws on his fingers dug painfully into her arms, but the pain was quickly soothed away by the Valkyrie suit.  
  
With contemptuous ease, he snatched the blaster from her limp grip and tossed it across the room. It skittered and slid until it came to rest against the far wall. If she wanted it back, she’d have to delve deeper into the building – and farther from the stairs that were her escape.  
  
“What _are_ you?” Angela asked, as fearful as she was curious. She’d never seen anything like it – and she’d seen (and done) a lot of things in Overwatch, but she’d never seen a man turn into shadows. If this was what Talon was capable of, how would could they be stopped?  
  
“Does it matter?” He growled, tightening his grip momentarily before releasing her completely. He remained standing between her and the stairs – and her escape – before turning his attention towards the wounds in his chest. It appeared both of her bullets had hit their target – not that it had done her any good.  
  
“You’re a doctor; fix me.” He demanded, turning his attention away from the holes in his body to stare down at her once more. Angela crossed her arms over her chest, noting absently the sticky-wetness of blood on her arms, and glared right back. She was as dangerous as a kitten with a ball of yarn, yet she acted with a bravado more appropriate on seasoned veteran.  
  
“I’m not going to ‘fix’ you.” She snapped back. He stepped forward threateningly, and she couldn’t help but take a rapid one backwards as well; even wounded, she knew that she was no match for him. “You need to be stopped.” Even if it went against her oath to do no harm, she was doing the world a greater favor – even if the wounds wouldn’t kill him, they’d slow him down.  
  
“You think you’re in a position to refuse?” Angela laughed, a short, mirthless sound even as he loomed over her. Of course she was in a position to refuse. There was always a choice – regardless of how reprehensible the choices were, they always existed if one looked hard enough. She had never been one to take the easy path if it was wrong, and she would not start now.  
  
“I think that, if you _really_ wanted to kill me, you’d have done it already.” She’d been at his mercy since he’d pinned her against the wall. She hadn’t shot him then, that first time. There had been no reason to release her and every reason to keep his hand at her throat – if he wanted her dead. It gave her a false sense of confidence, because she was well aware that there were worse things than death.  
  
So that meant he wanted something from her – and that was before she’d put two holes in him. That he hadn’t killed her for the wounds she’d put in him meant that he still wanted it, whatever it was. He probably wanted information from her; she was famous – or notorious, depending on who you asked – for being the last remaining leader of the old Overwatch. That Winston was the current, defacto leader didn’t change that she had plenty of knowledge of the agents and their goings on, even now. The only other thing would be to put her mind to work for Talon – but unless they changed her like they had poor Amélie there was no way she would do any such thing.  
  
Whatever it was, she wouldn’t give it to him.  
  
It was her sworn duty, after all.

\---

“I can always change my mind.” He drawled, almost lazily, as he pressed one hand to the steadily oozing holes in his chest. They certainly hurt like a bitch, but he wasn’t going to show such weakness before her, his enemy. No need to add to this bravado she was touting about; no, he would remain standing between her and her escape until he was done with her.  
  
“Whatever you want, I’m not going to give it to you.” He knew she meant the words to be defiant, but he could hear the undercurrent of fear and stress. Perhaps a stranger would have missed it, but he’d known her for years – and even after all this time and loss, she hadn’t really changed. He knew the masks she wore better than almost anyone left alive.  
  
He couldn’t help the deep, throaty chuckle that erupted from him.  
  
“You don’t seem to appreciate the position you’re in, _doctor_.” She’d practically served herself to him on a platter – and she was surprised that things had turned out the way they did? Oh, certainly, it was unexpected that she’d managed to actually land a shot – much less two – on him after years of being out of practice (not that she’d ever been much good when she was _in_ practice), but everything was going more-or-less exactly as he’d have expected from this confrontation.  
  
“I have countless ways of getting _anything_ I need from you.” He cracked a few knuckles menacingly, ignoring the blood on his fingertips. “The only question is how difficult you make things.” Gabriel didn’t want to truly injure the woman before him, but if she continued to be defiant, he would be forced to shove those feelings aside. Certainly, the Reaper would have no problem doing so.  
  
“If you hurt me, you will be hounded across the Earth.” Angela threatened, and he knew that she was right. Even with Overwatch in tatters, she definitely had allies that would avenge her – though they weren’t very good allies if they’d let her slip the leash long enough to get murdered in a back alley of Mexico. How times had changed.  
  
Still, he wasn’t terribly worried about these allies of hers. None of them posed a threat to him as he was now; even these sluggish wounds would be easy to heal once he fed – assuming he couldn’t get her to fix him herself.  
  
“By who? You’re all alone with a monster.” He scoffed and took a few steps towards the woman, sending her skittering backwards defensively before him once more.  
  
Two sharp cracks echoed through the room, interrupting the Reaper before he could move any closer. Almost instantly he turned to mist and twisted away, snarling. He was only mildly surprised to see Jesse McCree on the stairwell, his eyes wide as he tried to figure out where his enemy had gone. It would be amusing if it weren’t such a damned nuisance; the Reaper had a reputation to uphold. Gabriel wanted Angela to survive this meeting, but the more people she dragged in this the harder it would be to keep the Reaper from turning this into a bloodbath.  
  
“Jesse?” Angela’s voice was notably shakier than before, when the sight of her protector should have strengthened that bravado of hers. Years of being her protector and watchdog had him turning away from the threat to look at her – and pause at the sight, Gabriel slamming the Reaper far into the background.  
  
While the bullets had missed him, they had found a home in her.

 _  
Remember the me, the way I used to be.  
_ _As who I still should be.  
  
_

He checks on her, from time to time. He’s never sure if this time will be the time he approaches her, but what would he do if he did? Would he kill her for what she’d turned him into – for surely his cursed existence could only be laid at her feet? Would he beg for her forgiveness, for her to take him back, for her to kill him?  
  
What would _she_ do?  
  
He could imagine all sorts of reactions. Love: her lost lover, brought back from the dead; a man she mourned suddenly returned to her. Joy: she was no longer alone, even if there would be sanctions. Fear: he was a monster that fed off the life force of others to survive, with no cure in sight. Anger: he’d been gone for so long, had made her face the inquisitors by herself because of his actions. Hatred: he’d destroyed her world, and now he was coming back to hurt her once more.  
  
Those first months were the hardest. Before the Fall he could count on both hands the number of times he’d seen her cry in the years he’d known her. She was a strong woman who preferred to be weak in private, barely trusting her weakness to even him; he could understand that. But since the Fall, she’d cried more in public than he’d expected – and it killed him to have been the one to do that to her, to not be able to comfort her. Others took his place in that regard – Reinhardt. Tracer. McCree. Even Torbjorn had rallied to her side – but how could they not? She was their Mercy. She’d saved them all, many times over; it was their turn to repay the favor.  
  
How he wished he could repay the favor as well.  
  
Those first weeks, when she stayed at the memorial for too long, he watched over her and made sure she would be safe when no one else stood vigil over her. Ex-Overwatch agents weren’t exactly the best thing to be in the recent political climate – and she was the most recognizable of the ones that remained, even if most could agree that she was a positive aspect of Overwatch. Coupling that with the very visible Overwatch memorial and there was bound to be trouble. More than one night had ended with him chasing hooligans away that would have bothered her before she was ready to leave. Some nights he thought she would stay all night, looking terribly small curled up against base of the memorial, but she always managed to find her way home.  
  
Sometimes he found her at another, smaller grave. Sometimes she was weeping, other times she was simply sitting with her back against the small marker. It surprised him, to find her away from the large memorial that marked all she lost – so one night, after he made sure she was home safely, he went back to look at the name on the grave marker.  
  
It was a very odd feeling, he decided, to stand at his own grave. But it warmed him, somewhat, that she had taken the time to give him a grave, that she still mourned him instead of the hatred he expected.  
  
He wished he dared to steal close enough to overhear what she murmured to the stone when she thought she was alone. With his newfound abilities it would be easy – unless he fucked it up and became corporeal without meaning to. He was sure she could help him with it, maybe fix him, but wouldn’t that be selfish? She’d gone through enough pain: discovering his betrayal, mourning the agents that died, suddenly adapting to a life she no longer wanted. Gabriel was many things, but he wasn’t needlessly cruel. He loved her too much to put her through anything more.  
  
So, he watched from afar as she moved on with her life.  
  
He wasn’t always there, lurking in the shadows. He’d needed to get a hold of himself, to work towards the changes he’d been trying to make before he’d destroyed Overwatch. Still, he made sure to stop by Zürich as often as he was able.  
  
He wasn’t surprised that she couldn’t bear to leave. She was far more sentimental than she gave herself credit for. He _was_ surprised that all the others scattered across the globe, leaving her alone with their ghosts. He could understand why the others would leave Zürich – too many memories were there to haunt them – and yet he couldn’t understand why they would abandon her.  
  
Perhaps they called, wrote – _something_ – that kept her tied to the others, the ones that she’d protected and healed countless times. Perhaps it was just something he, an outsider peering in only occasionally, couldn’t see.  
  
But any time he looked in on her, she looked as she had during the short time he’d known her before she’d joined Overwatch. She looked driven, exhausted – and sad. She had reason to be sad now, of course, with all the death and memories that tugged at her every time she looked around – but it shouldn’t be so prevalent. With Overwatch she had been driven and exhausted, certainly – but she had been happy. She was quick to smile, but now she seemed beaten by life – by him.  
  
The others shouldn’t have abandoned her as they did. Perhaps they couldn’t stand her presence, a living reminder of everything they lost – but she had given so much for them. They should have stayed longer, seen her properly on her feet, before leaving. Maybe call more – something, he didn’t know. He couldn’t fix it, considering he was supposed to be dead.  
  
The year passed slowly, but it passed. The world moved on, even though she stayed the same.  
  
He made sure to be in Zürich for the anniversary of its destruction. If none of the others appeared, he’d make himself known to her. He couldn’t let her mourn alone, no matter what it would cost him in the end. If the others couldn’t be bothered – and he half expected none of them to show up, considering how Angela had looked this past year – he’d make the effort. He owed her that much, at least.  
  
She was there before he was – he had no idea how long she’d been standing before the stone, one hand pressed against it solemnly, head bowed. He tucked himself into the shadows of a nearby tree, as he had so many times before – but it wasn’t long before he was ready to leave.  
  
Jesse McCree, his companion and friend once upon a time, had strolled up to Angela and pulled her close – and it made him want to punch something. There wasn’t any reason for him to be jealous of the cowboy; it was obvious to anyone that there wasn’t anything between the two of them besides shared sorrow. That didn’t change the fact that he wanted to hurt the man. He could do what Gabriel could not – touch her, comfort her, simply _be_ with her. That it was McCree comforting her just set his teeth on edge; if there was anyone she would move on with from their past, it would be that cowboy.   
  
Gabriel turned away from the sight of them together. He knew she would be taken care of – if only for the day.  
  
Jesse would see to that.

 _  
The isolation spreads and tears, those happy days pierce into me.  
_ _These lonely memories cease to care, they spread throughout my history.  
_ _I’ll never move. I’ll never lose. I’ll never move. I’ll never lose. I’ll never move. I’ll never lose you.  
  
_

She was the last of the Overwatch leadership. Ana had been lost years ago in a field mission with Jack; they hadn’t had a body to bury when they’d mourned her, either. Jack and Gabriel – regardless of what had happened between them – had been lost in the rubble of the Zürich base, but not for lack of searching. There was no reason to believe they survived – even with their enhancements, it was doubtful they could survive their wounds _and_ an entire building collapsing upon them.  
  
It was decided to let Overwatch die with them. After such a decimating blow – and the secrets that were slowly being exposed even now – how could they recover? Their Commander was dead – and while she might have been a leader, she wasn’t a military commander and she never wanted to be. There was no one left alive that she would consider as capable as Jack and Ana – especially not in the wake of such destruction. There was no one who could protect them from the media scrutiny. No one except her – and she wasn’t sure she could shoulder the burden alone.  
  
The memorial service was a long, drawn out affair that had drawn agents from across the globe. It was the last act they could take as Overwatch; the PETRAS act had been passed and anything – aside from this memorial – done in Overwatch’s name would be considered illegal. Friends and family gathered one last time to mourn the fallen. Angela ached for all of them, but she couldn’t help them in the way they needed. She could barely help herself these days.  
  
Still, she had a duty to them – even if it was the final duty she could carry out as Mercy, as ‘Commander’. So, she showed up early to the ceremony grounds. There were no coffins, only a large memorial placed behind the podium where speakers would stand. If they had filled the space with coffins, there would have been no room left to stand. Besides, many were already interred in their home countries beside their family – and others had no body to bury. She stood towards the ‘entrance’, where she could greet anyone that chose to speak to her.  
  
Some family members and agents avoided her. For some it was because they believed the rumors that she was a miracle worker, and yet she had let so many die on her watch. For others it was because they couldn’t bear to be around the traitors’ lover. The list of reasons could go on for days, and yet she didn’t begrudge them their feelings. She was numb to it all, because if she let herself feel she’d collapse to the ground and sob – and she couldn’t do that. Not before all these people who looked to her to watch over them and guide them through this final act.  
  
Those were the ones that approached her. They wanted strength in the face of this horror, and she was the only one they had to look to anymore. Those who came before were all gone, and, while she had never commanded them on the battlefield, she was still a familiar face that had guided and protected them in the past. So, she forced a gentle smile on her face, one that shared in their misery, as she spoke to them. She shook their hands, hugged more people than she could name, and tried to be what the people before her needed.  
  
Too soon everyone was seated. So many milled throughout the seats, but she was relegated to the front right row. Hers was the only row that wasn’t packed; she sat alone among the horror. As the last, she was front and foremost. If it had been the death of an agent, the family would sit where she was now. She and the others – Jack, Ana, and Gabriel – would sit on the left side; present to provide their strength, but not imposing on the family. This memorial for all of them left her in the unusual position of sitting alone on the wrong side, but as the last “head” she was the one who held this ceremonial seat.  
  
The memorial wasn’t religious – the deceased had many religions among them – and it wouldn’t be right to ostracize one set of rites for another, and they couldn’t respect all religions and have the service over without taking three days. Instead, the service was led by one of the UN leaders, an articulate orator if she’d ever heard one. He venerated the dead and avoided the politics and treason surrounding the tragedy.  
  
Before it was over, though, she was called to speak before all those people. Being the last meant she had certain expectations to meet. If it had been Jack or Gabriel standing there, they’d have put together a speech that would invigorate and commiserate with a soldiers’ stoicism. Ana would have been compassionate and gentle. Angela was none of them, so she spoke from her heart; there was nothing else she could consider doing.  
  
“You all know who I am.” She wasn’t a speaker, not really. She could command and take charge, but she wasn’t one for wordy speeches just to make people feel better. “I served as Overwatch’s Chief of Medicine. I was your Commander, shortly after the Fall, for a brief time. I was a researcher – but most of you saw me as a doctor or a field medic, as Mercy.” Angela carefully didn’t look at the crowd of people, but instead focused above them. She was sure some were sneering or glaring; she could take their hatred. It was the tears and despair that would make her lose herself here on this stage.  
  
She pieced together her own experiences – not only during the Fall, but of the organization as a whole – to paint an image of camaraderie and family, of strength and courage. She shared in their pain, love, and grief, and would always carry the weight of the names on the memorial behind her in her heart. Tears rolled unchecked down her cheeks as she spoke and her voice shook and broke in places, but there was no doubt that what she said and felt was genuine. The unflappable Angela Ziegler stood before them all with tears streaking down her face, but she made it through.  
  
She returned to her lonely seat at the front of the proceedings. As she walked, members of the crowd were invited to speak about those who had passed. Angela had just taken her seat when one of the Lieutenants began to address the crowd. One large hand rested briefly on her shoulder – Reinhardt had claimed one of the seats behind her, having come from his mandated retirement to grieve with his old comrades – before slipping away, but the sentiment was there. She may be sitting alone here, but she had people around her that cared for her and would help support her – and she would always do the same.  
  
Many spoke before it was over. McCree had wanted to speak, but she had talked him out of it. He was Blackwatch, and tensions were high enough after what Gabriel – his own Commander – had done. Instead, he remained seated in the row behind her, while Lena and Winston took their place behind the podium to speak to the crowd. Some speakers weren’t agents at all, but instead family of the deceased. She looked on attentively; some glared at her – and she met their heated stares calmly – while others couldn’t bear to look at her. Between speakers, she stared at the memorial.  
  
So many names had been etched into the stone. She’d lost count of the dead, but she knew that the numbers would have been even more catastrophic had there been less training among those within the base. It had been the quick thinking and the rapid, calm reaction that had saved so many lives that day. She had been the one to finalize the design before it was created, and it had pained her to see so many names to be carved into stone. At the very top of the list of names, directly beneath the Overwatch emblem, was Jack Morrison’s name.  
  
She had wanted Gabriel’s name to be there next to his, side-by-side as they always should have been, but she knew better than to voice such an opinion. It would be seen as the sentiments of a fool – and she could not afford to be seen as such at this juncture – or as treason. Gabriel had committed horrors against Overwatch, and he deserved no honors – even if he’d once served Overwatch proudly. Still, she’d ensured he’d received a burial, even if there were no remains left to bury. He deserved to have a place to rest, no matter what he had done.   
  
Once there were no more speakers, the UN leader finished the service. He thanked everyone for coming to honor the fallen, and, after a moment of silence, it was over. Angela stood and placed herself near the stage where she was seated, so that anyone that still wished to speak to her could approach. She’d known many of the agents that had perished, and many family members wanted to talk to her about them. Others were angry about Gabriel’s betrayal and her closeness to him, but she didn’t engage them in the argument they so desperately wanted. Overall, it was thoroughly exhausting – she had to manage everyone else’s grief while tucking hers away. She provided – and accepted – condolences. She assured the widows and widowers that the UN would help take care of them – as would she, however she was able.  
  
It wasn’t much, but she would do anything she could to make things better for them. She would honor the bonds of Overwatch, regardless of if it was buried in the past.

 _  
Unraveling the world.  
_ _At once I start changing, yet everything’s remaining  
_ _These lives I felt would join as one, they fade away before they’ve begun  
  
_

Until he could control of whatever had changed in him, he would be unable to continue what he’d started. Normally, he’d approach Angela – but that wasn’t an option, not anymore. There was only one other person he could go to that _might_ be able to help him, maybe fix him, as loathe as he was to approach them.  
  
Still, he travelled to the city of Oasis in Iraq, to approach one of the few people from his past that was least likely to turn him over to the UN.  
  
“Well isn’t this a surprise.” The redhead drawled, leaning against her desk. “Everyone thought you were dead, Reyes.” She was a renowned geneticist, and while he tolerated her he couldn’t say he condoned her actions; still, her medical prowess left her as one of the few people he could approach.  
  
“I’d appreciate if it stayed that way.” He growled. Gabriel was well aware of her connections to Talon, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he was blackmailed into doing their bidding. He only hoped that he would get what he needed before he was in too deep.  
  
“Oh? And what’s in it for me?” She sounded bored as she inspected her fingernails idly, as if specters from her past were always showing up on her doorstep. He knew if he didn’t pique her interest, she’d turn him over to _someone_ – whether it was the UN, Talon, or someone else, he wasn’t quite sure – before he could get her help. Despite her Talon leanings, he was willing to bet she’d go to the UN; if rumors were true, they were out for his blood.  
  
“Something’s wrong with me.” It physically pained him to admit weakness to anyone – anyone except _her_ at any rate – but he didn’t have much choices here. That it was Moira, of all people, made that pain even worse. “I think Angela… did something to me.” The woman before him scoffed.  
  
“I doubt that _girl_ could do anything lasting to you.” The redhead smiled wickedly. “At least, not from a medical standpoint.” She tsk’d quietly. “How _is_ Angela doing these days, hmm? I can’t imagine you haven’t been keeping tabs on our _favorite_ blonde.”  
  
“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Moira.” He said, shaking his head. They were getting off topic. “Just – look, alright?” He had no idea what was wrong with him, and the thought of explaining it out loud made him feel insane. He concentrated, trying to activate _whatever_ it was that made him turn into smoke. Long moments passed, the silence between them so loud it was practically roaring in his ears.  
  
“Well, I won’t say this wasn’t _interesting—_ ”  
  
“Just give me a sec, will you?” He snapped. He’d never done this before people – hell, he’d barely done it on command, mostly running on some instinct he couldn’t explain – and failing at this _insanity_ before Moira of all people was killing him.  
  
Moira opened her mouth to say something snarky again – and it happened. One moment he was solid, the next he was a mass of smoke before the redhead. The woman’s mouth hung open in shock for a long moment, before she snapped into action. She was a scientist after all – and he was suddenly the most fascinating subject she’d ever seen. She poked at him, writing notes and humming under her breath. After another few seconds he came back to himself, shaking off a moment of lightheadedness – but she was already turning away to do whatever sciency nonsense she could put together to try to fix him.

\---

Angela had done something to him, but Moira had no idea how to fix it – or even how to replicate it. All they’d determined was that using this ability – or whatever you’d call it – drained him of energy faster than he could replenish it. Food and drink only took the tiniest edge off of the weakness. She tried blood transfusions, and that didn’t work either.  
  
They’d found the answer completely by accident. He’d come to her office early. She was working on some project or another, but this one required a cadaver for her to tear apart in her search.  
  
He couldn’t explain why he approached the body, but soon he was burying his hands in the corpse – and _something_ happened. He experienced his first partial transformation – his fingers only – as they tore through the body and stripped it of what few nutrients remained. It took seconds, but once it was over he felt better than he had in days. It wasn’t much, of course – the body had been dead for a few days and most of _whatever_ it was that he’d harvested was missing, but it was a start.  
  
He was horrified at the realization that he would need to butcher fresh corpses – or living ones – to gain the energy he needed to survive. Moira was merely intrigued, but then her sense of morality had always been much more grey than his.  
  
“My contacts can help you with your… now what shall we call it, hmm? Food sources?” She grinned at the face he made. “Very well. We’ll call it your sustenance, how’s that?” She nodded, regardless of what he thought. “They can help supply your sustenance – but you’ll need to help us, of course.” Moira shot him a sly look. “Unless you’d rather find some homeless man on the streets?”  
  
The thought of harvesting… sustenance… from _anyone_ was horrible. He wouldn’t – he couldn’t. He wasn’t that man, no matter what the rest of the world thought of him.  
  
“No. I’m not – I’m not going to _hunt_ and murder people. That’s not – I’m not that person.” He had blood on his hands, sure – but nothing like what Moira was considering. He was a solider that had killed plenty, but he’d be damned if he started slaughtering innocents – or whatever target Talon had – to stay alive. “I just want you to fix me.” Moira shook her head.  
  
“It’s not that easy. Whatever Angela did _changed_ you. It will take time to discover how to reverse it – if that’s even possible.” He could hear the frustration in her voice. She and Angela had butted heads often – often on morals and crossing lines – and even now Angela was driving Moira crazy. It was almost funny – if it weren’t his body that had sparked it.  
  
“I’m not doing it, Moira. Just fix me; that’s all I need.” He stormed over to the door. “I’ll be back.”

\---

He’d tried to abstain – truly he did. But, working with Moira required him to use this ability more often than he had up until he’d darkened her doorstep. Weeks turned into a month; his energy was lower than it had ever been, which made him irritable. When he still refused, the testing went on – but it became painful. Slowly it became worse and worse.  
  
He finally gave in after the sixth day of feeling like his body was on fire, like he was actively dying one inch at a time, without relief. He’d have done anything to make the pain stop at that point. Moira had brought in another cadaver; it wasn’t much, but it slaked the pain enough for him to regain coherency.  
  
“Fine.” He growled out, once he could speak. “I’ll accept your ‘contact’s’ help – but only until you fix me. You _have_ to fix me.” There was desperation in his voice, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t live like this, not forever.  
  
“I won’t promise miracles – that was always your angel’s purview, not mine.” He growled low under his breath but realized he wouldn’t get a better answer than that.  
  
“Fine.”  
  
He’d made his first kill as ‘The Reaper’ later that week. Shrouded in black armor, cloak, and skull mask – Moira’s idea of a joke – he’d stalked his target to an empty alley and ended his life. Gabriel wasn’t certain if the man truly was a threat to Talon or a stranger they’d picked off the street to see if Gabriel would kill for them. At that point, he was desperate enough to do anything to keep himself ‘healthy’ – or what passed for it these days.  
  
There was no turning back for him, not until he was fixed. And if there was no fix? Well…  
  
That would be unfortunate, wouldn’t it?

 _  
I’m breakable, unbreakable.  
_ _I’m shaking yet unshakeable.  
  
_

She has faced loss, time and time again. Her parents, lost in the fighting during the Omnic Crisis nearly three decades ago. Her grandparents, in a car accident while she was completing her doctorate. Countless patients to countless causes – suicide, murder, accident, disease – during her time as an intern and after. Even more agents, Overwatch and Blackwatch, to the senseless violence perpetuated by the terrorists they were sent to stop. Each death weighed on her. They drove her to find better, more effective ways to save lives – and they haunted her dreams.  
  
She thought she was accustomed to loss – and then Ana had died. She had thought her closest friends were untouchable – immortal. A foolish thought; she had operated on all of them many times throughout the years. She knew their blood was just as red as hers, and their bodies just as fragile. Still, Angela was reserved on showing her emotions to those around her, even after such a heavy blow. Too many around her needed her strength and support; Ana had touched too many lives. Instead, she tucked her sorrow and grief to the side. While she was still subdued and quieter than her normal self, she was still the strong, unflappable Dr. Angela Ziegler. She helped hold Jack and the others together, because without Ana they all were a little lost. In turn, Gabriel helped hold her together; he was the only one that saw the true extent of her grief.  
  
That sorrow was nothing compared to what she felt when Overwatch fell, taking the lives of Jack and Gabriel and shattering her life into pieces.  
  
It hit her in waves, the stark realization that this wasn’t another horrible nightmare, that this was her life now.

\---

The first time was when she woke in a recovery room and didn’t recognize anything about it. It was a civilian hospital, and, while it wasn’t unheard of to be treated in such a facility, she was also all alone. Still, she was dazed – did her mission to Milan go so poorly that she would need to be hospitalized? It wasn’t until an exhausted nurse, summoned by the call button Angela had pressed – and pressed and pressed – broke the news to her that she realized what had happened.  
  
It was all they could do to subdue her and keep her from trying to assist in the triage – which most of the urgent cases had already been cared for, long before she had awoken. Besides the fact that they had her on some pretty strong drugs, she had several broken and fractured ribs that would make it impossible to do any work. That wasn’t to mention any of the superficial injuries she’d sustained in the long hours she’d spent in the rubble. When they were finally convinced that she would stay put, Angela was left alone once more – though she was unsurprised to find nurses peaking in from time to time to make sure she was where she was supposed to be.  
  
With nothing to distract her – all of her work was, literally, up in flames and she had no way to contact anyone to try to coordinate relief efforts – she could only wallow in her grief. She’d tried to watch something on the small television in her room, but channel after channel showed various shots of the wreckage of Overwatch. Angela turned the television off, tears streaming down her cheeks. For over a decade she had been with Overwatch – and for what?  
  
Gabriel had once said that this would end in heartbreak and nightmares. She hated that he was right.

\---

The second time was late in the evening when McCree bullied his way into her room. While she wasn’t surprised that he’d force his way into the hospital to see her, she was surprised that he was in Switzerland. He was supposed to be in South Korea for at least another two weeks with Genji. She couldn’t blame them for abandoning their mission, but the travel time was almost an entire day; he must be running on fumes to be standing there in her doorway, staring at her as she tried to quickly wipe away the evidence of her sorrow from her face.  
  
“Jesse…?” He blinked and stepped forward into the room, closing the door behind him, goaded into action by the sound of his name. The lone chair, for visitors she’d not yet received, sat against a nearby wall; he dragged it from its resting place to bring it within arm’s length of her bed.  
  
“Do we have a death count?” Angela asked quietly, when it was obvious that he wasn’t sure where to start. Her focus, of course, were on the lives that were in her care – ever more so now that Jack and Gabriel were no longer… she shied away from the thought.  
  
“Not… not yet.” Jesse admitted lowly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as he bowed his head. “They’re still searching for survivors.” He glanced up at her, a glimmer of hope shining behind the grief there. “You were there; they had t’ pull you out, too. D’ya know if…” Jesse faltered, unable to find the proper words to ask what everyone was wondering, “Reyes? Morrison? No one… No one’s seen them since the… since before.” It broke her heart to see him so lost – Blackwatch had saved him in more ways than one, and now he was adrift. She was silent for a long moment, gathering the strength to say what she needed. She knew he had come to her hoping for some sort of miracle, something she knew that no one else would, that would lead them to the recovery of the men that had been their world for so long.  
  
“I saw them.” She wasn’t ready to recount those harrowing last moments between the three of them, where she stood between Jack’s gun and Gabriel’s life. “After the blasts, I mean. They were so, _so_ badly hurt,” she tried to force the emotions back, but, when Jesse’s hand landed heavily on hers, she couldn’t help but cling desperately to the comfort he gave, “and the ceiling… it collapsed.” The tears welled up and spilled over against her will, and she lifted her free hand up to wipe at them furiously, ignoring the sting of the IV as she jostled it. “Jack pushed me aside – and down four stories – which is why I… I survived. I don’t – they probably – they’re _gone_.” The words were choked as a sob welled up in her chest, and suddenly she couldn’t hold her emotions in check.  
  
Admitting out loud what she already knew in her heart nearly shattered her again. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as her body shook with her quiet sobs. Jesse bowed his head once more, his hair and ridiculous hat shielding his face from view as she clung to his hand and wept. Neither of them was the kind to lean on the strength of others, instead stubbornly standing on their own unless someone came along and _made_ them accept help.  
  
When they had both composed themselves – or reached some semblance of composure – Jesse cleared his throat. They both studiously ignored the red eyes and occasional sniffle as he drew them back to what he was here for.  
  
“Winston wanted me t’ give you this.” He fumbled in his pockets for a moment before yanking a communicator out. It wasn’t hers – that was still somewhere in the base, lost in the initial blasts – but it would work for her as if it were. “There’s not… no one knows what to do. You… You’re what we have.” Though the words were rough, she understood what he meant. After Gabriel had been moved to Blackwatch, Ana had been Jack’s second in command. After she’d died, he’d never officially replaced her. There was no one – no captain, no UN member, not even her – that could follow him in the wake of such destruction – and that was assuming any of those subordinates directly below him had even survived. But, here in Zürich, she was a power that had been second only to Jack; it was fitting that she would step into the void he left.  
  
She would have to find a path through the destruction. She would have to put herself between the world and the organization she was ready to die for, just as Jack had done for them for so long. But, wasn’t that what she had done all along? She put herself between agents and bullets every time she stepped into the field, and when that wasn’t enough, she went toe-to-toe with death to try and save them.  
  
“I’ll take care of it.” Angela promised solemnly. She would guard these lives left to her; this was the legacy her friends – her _family_ – had left to her. If the world would turn against them, she would suffer the storm so that the others could shelter in her shadow. She could do no less.

\---

There had been so much to organize and not nearly enough hours in the day to do it. UN and Overwatch emergency protocols had taken care of everything in the immediate face of disaster, but these were only stopgap measures. Even though she was supposed to be healing and resting, she instead found herself coordinating the relief efforts. There had only been halfhearted attempts to stop her, but she _needed_ something to do, to distract her from her grief. Work was always her solace, and now would be no different.  
  
So many people were displaced and in need of _things_. Medical attention certainly, but they also needed shelter and food at the very least. The hospitals in the area had already done what they could for the former; it was up to the remaining scraps of Overwatch to put together the latter.  
  
She had assumed leadership over the tattered remains of Overwatch, with Winston and Sojourn working with her as Ana and Gabriel had for Jack. There had been some pushback from Sojourn – Angela wasn’t a military leader and shouldn’t be in such a position, but Angela had talked her down. The doctor had no real desire to be in charge of the organization – she was a healer and a researcher, not a military commander – but in doing so, she set the sights of their governing agencies squarely on her back. They worked equally together on the issues but, should there be any fallout or trouble, it would be Angela that shouldered the consequences.  
  
It was the least she could do. She had been in tribunals, hearings, and all manner of other legal meetings on behalf of Overwatch – though never had she been the one to take point. Still, that made her the most qualified to handle those issues; no one living could claim such expertise. Since no one wanted to draw the unwavering eye of the inquisition, Angela was a welcome sacrifice.  
  
The three of them worked tirelessly to guide their subordinates into the care for all of those who were in Zürich. They had quickly determined that sending agents away to other Overwatch outposts and watchpoints would be the best solution; there was already food and shelter present, and Overwatch owned enough aircraft to make the evacuations work – even if it was slow. People were steadily funneling out of the city, and all Overwatch activities were at a standstill until they could get back on their feet.  
  
The rubble still wasn’t cleared, after all.  
  
She had a list of all personnel that had been inside – or were supposed to be inside – the Zürich base when it fell. It had been hard to recover, and she was certain it wasn’t completely up-to-date even if she didn’t have proof, but it was better than starting with nothing. Slowly, that list was growing shorter as she sorted the names into various columns: Alive, Dead, MIA. They were further sorted within their various lists, showing injuries or whether next of kin had been contacted.  
  
At the top of the MIA list were Jack and Gabriel. Every time she opened the list to update it, their names were there to jump out at her and sucker punch her with sorrow once more. Their bodies hadn’t been recovered. Some had thought they’d been incinerated in the blasts, but she had seen them after the explosions. There should be something there, and yet there was nothing.  
  
She couldn’t help but hope that they were alive, somewhere – but they should have appeared by now. They would have come to help those who were left behind if they were in a position to do so.  
  
Instead, her heart broke again and again as the silence grew.

\---

The first thing she’d noticed was the quiet. Certainly, it wasn’t silent – there were people walking in the hallway, their voices muted and muffled even through the slightly propped open door – but it was much quieter than her hospital bed. After bullying her way out of the hospital, tired of being confined by the well-meaning medical staff – as if she wasn’t well aware of how to take care of her own injuries – she’d found herself housed in this hotel room. She was sharing the space with two others – Lena and Gloria – but it was currently empty, as they were out doing what they could at the ruins.  
  
She didn’t realize how comforting the hospital sounds were until they were gone.  
  
Angela shook herself out of her stupor and strode to the tiny desk, made even tinier by the mountain of papers she had strewn across it. This was her new base of operations, meager though it was. They’d all learned how to make do with less, and the lack of space – and privacy – was hers. It wasn’t often that her two watchdogs were out at the same time, and she intended to take advantage of the time.  
  
She hadn’t realized what it would entail, taking control over Overwatch. Oh, she was no stranger to leading, delegating, or politics – she’d been playing the game for years – and she loathed that she had to help in the formation and operation of tactical missions – but someone had to take the reins. Jack had just made it look so _easy.  
  
_But what she hadn’t realized was how dangerous the occupation of Commander was. Jack and Gabriel had been positively lethal and had served Overwatch in the field as well as in the Command room; she was anything but. Her friends had been quick to point that out and take over her security, since they knew she couldn’t be trusted with such things. It helped their cause that she could barely walk twenty meters without feeling short of breath.  
  
Thus, Lena had been her move-in bodyguard and Gloria her nursemaid. They’d bullied her into staying in a room at the end of a hallway on the fifth floor of their hotel, ‘for her safety’. Jesse and Genji had a room down the hall, a second set of watchdogs that she didn’t think she needed – but none of them had asked her for her opinion (even though she was _supposed_ to be their superior now). She thought they were being silly; any terrorist organization would be foolish to attack _now_ , when they were on heightened alert, no matter how great a mark she was – and that was _before_ she took the title of Commander.  
  
Still, that gave her more hands to help her. Jesse was her liaison to Blackwatch, with Genji working as his aid. Lena worked as Angela’s hands and eyes, running errands and making deliveries for the blonde. Gloria was her new head of medical – as she had been before Angela had taken the job years ago. Winston was their head of research and Sojourn was her right-hand for everything military. Except for the necessary appearances, Angela worked more as Sojourn’s aide than the other way around – but the Captain wasn’t stubborn enough to ignore the protection Angela offered. Still, she had mountains of paperwork to sift through, dossiers to review, missions to sign off on, and lists to compile. The missions had surprised her but, though their worlds had been shaken, life went on.  
  
She had so many lists, her fallback even now; she was pretty sure that, somewhere, she had a list of all of her lists. The ever-present list of the dead was taped to the wall and hung over everyone’s head like a silent, oppressive weight. She had a list, compiled by Sojourn, of all the missions that had been active during the attack; the two had agreed that the missions should be completed so that terrorist agencies didn’t take advantage in the wake of such tragedy. There was another list, stapled to that prior one, of missions that should be undertaken. And those were just some – _some_ – of the lists she had for Overwatch alone.  
  
But right now, she needed to prepare for the IJC. She had received their summons almost the moment she had left the hospital. With that summons – and the lack thereof in the chain of command of the military personnel she was working with – led her to believe that they were, silently, acknowledging her claim to Command. Oh, she knew they wouldn’t outright condone it – she was a doctor, an auxiliary staff and not a military unit – but they’d allow it. They needed someone to blame that was living and breathing, and she was as good a target as any. But, that had been her plan all along, hadn’t it? She’d martyr herself for Overwatch if necessary.  
  
She had a list for this, too.  
  
She’d sent Lena for clothes, since she was too busy – and injured – to shop for herself. Angela knew the points that needed to be covered: her claim to the title of Commander, the destruction of the Zürich base, the presumed deaths of Jack and Gabriel, and the ongoing relief efforts. She wasn’t sure what else they might cover, but she knew from personal experience that they would hit many points she wouldn’t expect – and now she had to rely on her own instincts and guesses instead of Jacks’. Still, she hadn’t been sitting around looking pretty for all those years; she’d observed and learned. Now she had to put that knowledge to use.  
  
“Commander.” It was the voice, not the title, that had drawn her attention. She loathed the title, even as she accepted the need for it. She was the interim leader for a paramilitary organization; if she wanted their respect and their loyalty, she needed to follow their rules and adopt their titles. It didn’t matter that, in her heart and mind, there were only two Commanders – Jack and Gabriel. Any time she heard the title she wanted to look around, as if they’d suddenly made an appearance and would take control once more, but she knew that was foolish.  
  
At least she’d managed to get her friends to drop the title – in private, anyway.  
  
Since she couldn’t leave this room easily – considering her injuries and how badly her friends were concerned for her safety – she had made it into her office. Any of the agents were able to approach her here, though she knew one of her guards probably divested them of their weapons. Considering she was mostly helpless – even with her blaster sitting like an awkwardly shaped paperweight on the desk – she wasn’t complaining too much.  
  
Still, she didn’t know why they didn’t just call her communicator. Perhaps they just wanted to get a look at their current leader? She knew that she was well regarded in Overwatch – she was their Mercy, who had put them together time and time again. It baffled her that so many people had so many problems that needed her personal attention; she was _busy_. Still, she dutifully stopped what she was doing (though she loathed stopping in the middle of a thought) to give the agent at her door her full attention.  
  
“How can I help you?” Angela asked as the man stepped into the room.

\---

Her tribunal had shaken her to the core. That she had managed to get through it without breaking had been nothing short of a miracle – but hadn’t she always been one to spin miracles?  
  
They had known the truth of the Fall and had waited to spring it on her at the most advantageous time for them. Her reaction would have showed the truth: she was shocked and appalled at what had happened. Angela felt sick just recalling the video, that most damning item of all. No one had known why he had gone to Overwatch that day – she hadn’t even known he was in the base, and he’d always told her when he was coming to visit.  
  
But now that they had told her, they would spread it like wildfire through the ranks. This was the act of a terrorist, of Blackwatch, and it would ring the death knell of the life everyone had known.  
  
When Jesse and Lena escorted her back to the hotel, she decided to tell her Blackwatch friends first. They would be the most affected by this news – they had been close to Gabriel and this betrayal would hurt them on all fronts. So, she had Jesse let her into his shared room and sent Lena away. Once she had made herself comfortable on a chair on the far side of the room, she regarded the two men in the room.  
  
Jesse, the rugged cowboy, was watching her nervously as he leaned against the door, as if he expected someone to burst through at any moment – or as if he wanted a quick means of escape. Genji was sitting on one of the beds – presumably his – with his elbows propped on both knees as he regarded her steadily. They both knew where she had come from – Jesse had stood guard with Lena outside the doors, after all – and knew that a meeting now meant nothing good. Angela cleared her throat nervously, opened her mouth – and found she couldn’t say it. Not yet.  
  
“I need to tell you about that day.” She said instead. Angela had been unable to describe those final moments between her, Jack, and Gabriel – but now the time had come. She had all the pieces, and now it was time to put them together for those that were left behind. If the men were surprised at her sudden decision to tell them about the worst day of her life, they were smart enough to stay silent about it.  
  
It was easy enough to describe the first few hours in the rubble. What she described would be nothing but what would be expected of her. She detailed her shock at the attack, which had turned to stubborn determination to save as many as possible. How she’d made her way into the basement and, instead of escaping, went to find Jack – and found Gabriel instead.  
  
“I found Gabriel in the rubble.” This was nothing that Jesse didn’t know, but she wasn’t sure how much he had shared with others. “He… He was in a bad way. Nothing I couldn’t fix,” her eyes flashed to Genji briefly, a living testament to what miracles she _could_ create, “if I had the supplies. We were in the middle of a ruin, five stories off the ground, with no relief in sight.” She choked on a bitter laugh. “I had some supplies, but nothing that would make a difference. Still…” she grew quiet for a moment, before sighing heavily. “I had to try. It was _Gabriel_ , and – I had to try.” They knew. They might not have loved him as she did, but she knew they loved him too. They had been friends, and now she had to destroy that, too.  
  
“I was patching him up when I heard it – a bullet cocking into place.” Tension filled her voice and body; her chest ached but she couldn’t relax. She could still picture it vividly; the gun, aimed at her, held in place by one of her best friends in the world. “It was Jack, and… and he was pointing that gun of his at me.” She clenched her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the floor; she couldn’t bear to see what her words wrought.  
  
“ _What?_ ” The word nearly exploded out of Jesse, and still she didn’t look up. The friendship between their trio was well known between the two organizations. The thought of Jack pulling a gun on _any_ Overwatch agent was laughable, but to draw on _her_? Sheer madness.  
  
“The IJC knows who attacked the base. So… So did Jack.” The words were choked, but she forced them out. She knew the hardest was yet to come, but she had to finish this story to the end. She took a deep, shuddering breath.  
  
“Jack told me to step aside. That he needed to finish what… what was started. What _Gabriel_ had started.” Angela exhaled sharply, forcing herself to keep calm. The silence roared in her ears; she knew that, if she looked up, the two men would look just as stunned as she had in that tribunal. “Gabriel… he did this.”  
  
“He wouldn’t!” Jesse refuted immediately, as if the truth could be erased with words. He crossed the room to seize her shoulders and shake her, forcing her to look up at him if only so he would _stop_ before he injured her ribs further.  
  
“He did.” The words were quiet, but no less damaging. He dropped to his knees, hands falling to her lap as he stared at her face – as if she would suddenly say it was a joke, it was really someone else. She curled her fingers over his, and he gripped them fiercely – as if she was the only thing holding him to this Earth.  
  
“Why?” Her attention turned to Genji, who had gotten up at some point and was pacing in the small space between the beds. “Why would he betray us like that?” The words were guttural and harsh – and she knew he was remembering a time when a different brother had betrayed him and left him broken. She wasn’t sure if she had the strength to put him back together a second time.  
  
“I-I don’t know.” Angela admitted. That was the all-consuming question. Why had he destroyed everything he had stood for? Why had he killed so many people? _Why_?  
  
“They’re – They’re gone, and _he_ did this.” The words were choked and harsh and no less true for the desperate emotion behind them. She shouldn’t mourn him, shouldn’t love him even now – but she did. She couldn’t help it, just like she knew the two before her couldn’t help mourning the loss of their friend, even if it turned to hatred.  
  
She wouldn’t tell them of her decision to stay between the two men, to protect Gabriel until Jack had saved her life. They wouldn’t ask, forgetting that Jack had held a gun on her in the face of this earth-shattering betrayal. She couldn’t tell them that she would, even now, make the same decisions that she had that day. There would be rumors, of course – the IJC would spread the information as wide as they could – but unless they asked outright, she would never tell her friends.  
  
That would be her sin to bear.

 _  
Until these hands contaminate you,  
_ _I’ll stand here existing and feeling wretched existence,  
_ _Consuming life force ‘til I grow distant.  
_ _Don’t bother searching for somebody like me, a fading no one  
  
_

He hates this thing Angela made him into – and the choices it’s forced him to make, the path it led him down. He couldn’t go to her, so he’d made a deal with the devil herself. Now he was tied to Talon with no escape in sight. Moira still hadn’t found a way to fix him, and the longer he stayed as he was the less the “fix” was important to him.  
  
Considering he’d been the one to destroy Overwatch, he should feel right at home.  
  
He hated Talon with every fiber of his being, and yet he was inextricably bound to them. On one hand, they would (hopefully, one day) give him the cure he needed – and until then would help him survive by providing opportunities to collect the life essence or whatever bullshit words Moira wanted to call the stuff he pulled from corpses. On the other hand, they were a terrorist group he had spent his entire life fighting against.  
  
He was forced to bide his time. While he _was_ the one that brought Overwatch to its’ knees, he _had_ been the commander of Blackwatch. His hands had taken the lives of many Talon agents over the years. Trust – or what passed for it in this organization – would not come quick. He was made to prove himself, joining in operations that he’d normally be on the opposing side, killing people he’d normally been the defender of.  
  
It sickened him. It invigorated him.  
  
Most of all, it scared him.  
  
As days turned to months, months into one year and then another, he felt himself slowly slipping away. Gabriel was crumbling, dissolving, into the Reaper. He was still loyal – but where once he was loyal to a cause, to the idea of Overwatch, he was now loyal to his own self-preservation and whatever would continue that. He was still quick to anger – but his grudges and resentment remained long after normally he would have cooled, to the point that some had died where normally they would have lived.  
  
He only remembered himself – his real self, Gabriel – when he looked in on Angela, and even that was becoming not enough. That small, secret heart of Gabriel still loved her – but the Reaper hated her. The Reaper knew she was the reason he was like this. She was to blame for everything that had happened to him, and his fingers itched to wrap around her throat.  
  
Gabriel wanted to reach out to her, his Angela; she could fix him, couldn’t she? Moira had had years and he was no closer to a fix. She’d stabilized him, given him control over this new existence of his, but she hadn’t fixed him. He wasn’t sure if that hadn’t been her goal from the beginning; surely it was now. He knew she sat on the council. What better asset could they have than the fearsome ex-Commander of Overwatch _and_ Blackwatch, who had a desperate need for death with an ability that made him all but untouchable?  
  
Still, he hadn’t forgotten his true mission – the one he had started almost five years ago. Talon had corrupted Overwatch and Blackwatch. It had been a stopgap measure, putting him in charge of Blackwatch. There had been malcontents, but the UN had hoped he could bring them to heel – and he had, for a time. But then they grew bold again. Missions started failing more than was reasonable. Information started leaking – from both organizations, now.  
  
Not huge things, not at first. Small items, inconsequential, from all over both organizations. The suspects were too varied, to widespread; there was no way to pinpoint them all – and most of it was inconsequential so it wasn’t as huge of a priority as it should have been.  
  
The cancer spread, until the only answer he could see was to destroy it before it destroyed Overwatch.  
  
As much as he and Jack had argued in those months leading to the Fall, he had never wanted him to face the UN after what Talon would have done to Overwatch. Jack would try to shield them, but they would have torn him to pieces. With Gabriel – his ex-right hand, his brother, his best friend – being the one to shatter Overwatch, they would have eaten him alive.  
  
It was worse, leaving Angela to shoulder the burden – but she’d never been a Commander. She was prestigious in her own right, and she had something they wanted – her innovative genius, which could save more lives than any one soldier, no matter how decorated. They would question her, and it would hurt – but they wouldn’t destroy her like they would have Jack, even if she had once been Gabriel’s lover.  
  
So, he planned for both of them to die. Let the traitorous agents sort themselves out; he was done.  
  
Except… he wasn’t.  
  
So when Talon proposed a strike on Gibraltar, to gather information on the scattered agents and to take out Winston, he volunteered to go. It was his first opportunity to continue what he had started, so long ago.  
  
He and the gorilla had never gotten along, much to Angela’s dismay. She’d always enjoyed a close friendship with Winston, but Gabriel could never bring himself to trust the creature. Still, his priority wasn’t the gorilla; it was the identities of the Overwatch agents. So, while the Talon operatives sent with him dealt with Winston, he’d attacked Athena – but not for long. A remote hacking device doesn’t need any assistance in person, so he went back to help in the assault against the gorilla.  
  
Suddenly, facing so familiar a specter from his past, he found it hard to actually harm him. So, his blasts hit Winston mostly in his armor, with some scattering into the thick, matted fur. Once he was far enough back, Gabriel shot down some hanging structure – he had no idea what the thing was – to incapacitate Winston. It didn’t keep him down long, and soon Gabriel was being pushed back himself by lightning. Before Winston did irreparable damage – or brought forth the true might of the Reaper – Gabriel faded away to Athena. He grabbed his secondary backup of the hack – Talon would never give him access to the information, so he’d planned to steal a copy for himself – and faded away as Winston climbed into the room.  
  
He witnessed Winston crush the hacking device. He watched the recall. And once he’d watched his fill, he slipped away. He’d gotten what he needed. He reported failure; the one surviving Talon agent attested to how terribly the attempt went.  
  
And then he began hunting.  
  
With the recall active, it was easy to pass many of the deaths off as generic targeting of people who were answering the call. Talon, after all, wouldn’t want Overwatch to get back on its feet. He didn’t strip all of them of their essence; he didn’t want Talon to catch on.  
  
He left the obvious responders alone – for a multitude of reasons. The primary was that he couldn’t stand to kill the last people who’d known him and the true Overwatch – it was, after all, to protect them that he was doing this. Another strong reason was that they had no part in the betrayal of Overwatch; none of them would sell Overwatch – or Blackwatch – out to Talon for any reason. Finally, they were truly too public to target.  
  
Those he hunted weren’t as obvious. Some were decorated, while others had only served in administrative capacity. The only thing that tied them together was that, at one point in their past, they had betrayed Overwatch – though to the casual eye it would only appear that they were ex-Overwatch agents, targeted for being ex-Overwatch.  
  
Eventually he’d be caught by Talon – they’d be the first to see the pattern after all – but until then, he’d do his best to undermine them from within. Hopefully he could bring yet another organization to its knees before it was too late.

 _  
This lonely space held into place by someone crazy,  
_ _Shall melt away like dawn to day as things get hazy.  
  
_

The sound of gunfire echoed in the room, forcing the monster away from her. Since she was disarmed, and the Reaper didn’t _need_ a gun to hurt her (though she’d seen them hanging from his back), she had to assume her backup in the form of Jesse McCree had arrived. As the Reaper disappeared, she saw her savior – still with that god awful belt buckle – standing on the stairs with his Peacekeeper in hand.  
  
She went to move towards him – she would be safer closer to him than apart – and staggered. The surprise at the feeling, more than the pain, had her looking down to see red on white. It had been so long since she’d been shot that she almost thought she was in one of her nightmares; her real life didn’t have bullets anymore, after all. Even with the Valkyrie suit numbing as much as it could as quickly as it could, nothing could hide the sharp, stabbing burn that spread through her body. While most of it faded away relatively quickly, she could still feel the throb of it with every breath.  
  
She went to press her right hand against her stomach – and found it moved stiffly. A quick glance showed a second splotch of growing red at her shoulder, even as she lifted her other hand to press against the lower wound. They were nonlethal injuries, though that assumed she could receive, or give herself, medical care. At least she didn’t have to worry about succumbing to shock – her suit would hold that off unless she received more critical injuries.  
  
She knew that this was not the time to let pain or injury – or fear – get in the way of movement; it was much too dangerous for that. She’d worked with wounds before – hell, she’d climbed down and up nearly the entire Overwatch base with broken ribs and holes, this should be nothing. But it had been a long time since she’d actually had to face her own mortality, and unlike riding a bike the memory was slow to return. After all, she hadn’t been a soldier – she hadn’t even pretended she was moderately competent with a gun, except to convince her commanders to let her work in the field.  
  
“Jesse?” She regretted it almost immediately. Her voice was weaker than she’d intended – and drew the attention of both enemy and ally. Until she’d spoken, she knew that the two men – she assumed the Reaper, whatever he was, was a man – were focused on each other. She’d been a liability before, but at least she’d been fully functioning (mild bruising and cuts notwithstanding).  
  
It was unfortunate that the space was too cramped for her Valkyrie suit to take her to Jesse; that would at least solve one of their many problems. It was also unfortunate that the Reaper could move faster than her – and maybe Jesse? She wasn’t really sure how fast he was in his incorporeal form, considering she wasn’t a sprinter by any means.  
  
Still, she had to try.  
  
Gritting her teeth, she forced her body to move forward. She had to get to Jesse, who was shaking off his shock – and shame – to move towards her protectively. Fortunately, now that she was aware of her body’s new limitations, she was able to move steadily.  
  
Still, it wasn’t enough.

\---

Gabriel hadn’t been sure if he could stop the Reaper if he’d decided to kill Angela. It was a pleasant surprise to discover that he almost certainly could. He was firmly in the drivers seat for the first time in what felt like an eternity. Normally it was… shared? That was the best descriptor he could think of. The Reaper was ruthless and bloodthirsty, and Gabriel generally was only able to direct him towards the next traitor on his list when he was at the forefront. Sometimes more, sometimes less, but always shared. Even this time here, in this dingy basement, it had been shared – though the Reaper was the one who was in control. Gabriel was more like an advisor, who sometimes could veto an action.  
  
Now Gabriel held the reins, without even the Reaper as an ‘advisor’, however short-lived that might be.  
  
It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her bloody – this wasn’t even the _worst_ time – and yet the sight of it still could stop his heart. The blood was stark against the white of her Valkyrie suit, and stood out like the worst kind of beacon. Even now, with the gunshots still echoing in their ears, the blood was already slowly rolling down her right arm and between the fingers pressed tight to her stomach.  
  
It made him go cold with rage. He didn’t know who to aim his ire at. Himself, for escaping and letting her take the bullets meant for him yet again? Jesse, for pulling the trigger? Angela, for being overconfident enough to come into the den of a monster?  
  
Movement brought his attention away from his thoughts and back into the present. The two still didn’t know where he was – the dimness of the basement and his incorporeal form made it nearly impossible for them to spot him. Jesse, who had paled once he saw his handiwork, was moving to protect Angela – though he was the only one who had done any lasting harm in this exchange. Angela, to her credit, had barely paused it seemed. She was already striding with carefully measured steps towards the cowboy that shot her.  
  
He might have held himself in the shadows until they made their escape if Angela hadn’t tripped over something – a loose board or some item he hadn’t kicked out of the way when he’d first come here – and nearly went sprawling. She kept her balance – barely – but made a low pained sound as she straightened. Her left hand, slick with blood, reached for the collapsed rod at her spine. Unfortunately, the blood and shoulder injury made it hard for her to fumble the straps open and grasp the staff before it could slip away.  
  
He caught it before it could touch the ground, rematerializing in a crouch next to her without a second thought.

\---

Jesse made a strangled sound, which was her first warning. Her second was the fact that her staff hadn’t clanged loudly to the ground.  
  
She knew Jesse was still too far away to make a difference. Knew that she should keep moving, that she was in the Reapers’ clutches even if his fingers weren’t on her flesh. Knew that he could snuff her life out without a second thought. Knew that she was a hostage, no matter where she stood in this room.  
  
Still, Angela hadn’t gone this long keeping her technology out of Talon’s hands. She wouldn’t let him keep her staff – keep _her_ – without a fight.  
  
When she turned, she did not expect to see the Reaper crouching at her feet.  
  
He was casually inspecting her staff, which was smudged with her blood. He seemed completely unconcerned about Jesse, who was only a few steps away and drawing closer. Instead, he turned the rod over in his hands, claws carefully running over the metal until he found the release that extended the staff to it’s full length. The motion startled her, sending a small wave of pain through her body that was quickly numbed away.  
  
As the Reaper stood to tower over Angela once more, Jesse slid carefully between them with his gun extended. Angela took a stumbling step backwards, but not moving too far away; the Reaper could rematerialize anywhere, after all.  
  
Before Jesse could make a threat, or even pull the trigger, the Reaper offered the staff to him.  
  
“You need to fix her.” The words were a gruff, firm order. Clearly he was a man used to giving orders, even to those who were his enemies. Jesse didn’t move, seeing only a trick to force him to let his guard down. The Reaper made an impatient noise. “She’s changed the design, so I don’t know how to use it. _She’s_ the one injured, so she can’t. _You_ need to fix her.” He shoved the staff at the cowboy, who instinctively grabbed it before it was pressed into his chest.  
  
“And, what, you’re just gonna stand there while I patch her up? Wait til’ the gun is down and then make your move?” Jesse was, naturally, skeptical of the whole situation. Still, he shifted the staff until it was stretched behind him for Angela to take; he wasn’t entirely convinced he wouldn’t need to defend himself.  
  
The blonde reached forward and took the staff firmly – she wasn’t about to let it slip through her fingers a second time. Unfortunately, though, the Reaper was correct – she wouldn’t be able to properly angle her staff to heal herself. Unlike the smaller tool, the healing stream, this staff was never meant to be used on the person wielding it. She was also fairly certain that the bullet was still in her shoulder, pressed up against the shoulder blade; until that was gone, she couldn’t heal that wound any way.  
  
“If you think I need a _trick_ to disarm you, you’re mistaken.” The Reaper snarled, but despite his tone he took a step back – apparently trying to diffuse the aggression and tension in the air even as he kept speaking. “ _You’re_ the one that got yourself into this mess. _You_ let her run off alone and then _you_ _shot her_. If you were anyone else, you’d be dead already.”

\---

He’d said too much. Jesse and Angela were both looking at him with surprise and confusion. The Reaper didn’t care about who he killed – he just killed. _Especially_ ex-Overwatch members, as Angela had pointed out in their earlier conversation. The Reaper should be glad Angela was hurt, would be trying to accelerate it – and here he was trying to save her life.  
  
It was the only choice he could make.  
  
“ _I_ got myself into this mess.” Angela snapped into the tense silence before Jesse could find the words to defend himself, drawing attention once more. Just as quick to defend her friends as ever, from anything she could shield them from. Of course, she wouldn’t blame him for shooting her. Even though he easily could have killed her, she wouldn’t blame him for the bullets – he’d been protecting her, after all.  
  
“Besides, he _can’t_ fix me. One of the bullets is still inside; I can’t be healed until it’s out.” The words were said with no emotion, as if she were reporting facts on one of her patients instead of her own body. He’d never heard her so detached about herself – but then again, he’d never heard her talk about her wounds before an enemy, either.  
  
“I’m sure the cowboy here knows a thing or two about removing bullets.” Gabriel knew, from personal experience, that Jesse was more than capable of extracting a bullet. He just hoped the man had gotten better at it; Angela didn’t deserve a brute digging around in her shoulder, after all. But, from the way they regarded him, he knew that they would never be able to take care of Angela while he was present. Jesse wouldn’t be able to relax his guard and put the gun down – and they’d never willingly allow him so close to her to do the honors instead.  
  
It didn’t fit with the persona he’d adopted and worn like a costume, but it didn’t matter. He’d hurt Angela enough; he could leave them to lick their wounds in peace.  
  
“Fix her,” Gabriel commanded Jesse, before suddenly materializing in his face, “and if you _ever_ hurt her again, I’ll rip your throat out.” He was incorporeal before Jesse could pull the trigger again, once more filling the room with the deafening echo. Gabriel rematerialized a few feet away, at the base of the stairs. He knew they’d never believe he was gone if they didn’t see him leave – as if he couldn’t just sneak back down later. Still, he mounted the stairs for their benefit. He’d truly leave – he needed to tend to his own wounds, which he’d been studiously ignoring since the arrival of Jesse McCree.  
  
“Wait!” He paused, surprised, to glance over his shoulder at the doctor, who was now leaning on her staff as she peered up towards him. “Who– Who are you?”

\---

There was no reason to leave, no reason to heal her. There was no agenda that matched up with his actions. By all rights she and Jesse should be cooling corpses on the floor, left to be founds by some poor homeless person days from now. The Reaper had been hunting ex-Overwatch members. The only ones who had escaped relatively unharmed had been Winston and Tracer – but those had been lucky, anecdotal accounts. Every other target that had _clearly_ been killed by the Reaper had been ex-Overwatch members – and while Jesse wasn’t exactly Overwatch, he was close enough that Angela would assume he counted. _Especially_ since he was defending the most prominent remaining ex-member.  
  
And yet, the Reaper was trying to save her life instead of taking it.  
  
But, now that she considered it, she hadn’t _actually_ sustained any true injury from the Reaper. Maybe she’d have a few bruises on her throat and a cut or two on her arms, but he hadn’t harmed her – not even when she’d shot him. She’d thought it had been because Talon wanted her brought to them alive – and maybe that was still the case – but she wasn’t certain.  
  
She sagged against her staff, exhausted. Nothing made sense. The one thing he was known for was killing Overwatch agents, and yet he wasn’t killing her – not that she was complaining, but it was confusing and a little concerning.  
  
“Wait!” She called after the man who had begun to pointedly climb the stairs, one loud step at a time. She was just as surprised as he was when he stopped to look back at her. “Who– Who are you?”  
  
It was the only thing that could possibly make sense. He knew her – and more than what you could read in the papers. They had known each other, sometime in the time she had served with Overwatch. She wasn’t sure if it was a brief time, such as a soldier she had patched up once, or if it was for a long time, as one of _her_ soldiers that she constantly ensured she worked with. But for a ruthless killing monster to spare her life – and not even to take as a hostage for Talon – made no other sense to her.  
  
“A ghost. Death. The Reaper.” He laughed mirthlessly. “But you don’t have to fear death at my hands, Angela. I won’t hurt you.” He turned and walked up the rest of the stairs. They listened to his steps as they crossed the room above, and then the door opened and shut loudly – probably on purpose. Still, Jesse mounted the stairs two at a time and checked the room before he believed that the Reaper was, most likely, gone.  
  
“Let’s patch you up, doc.” Jesse said, sitting her down on the stairs. “Did’ya bring your tools? The knife and the, uh, the fancy tweezers?” Angela rolled her eyes, even as she fumbled at the small pack at her hip to get what he needed.  
  
“They’re called forceps, Jesse. And yes, I did.”  
  
Later she would wonder about the Reaper. Wonder why she didn’t need to fear Death personified, when all other ex-Overwatch should be terrified. Wonder who he used to be, before the fall. Someone who remembered her and still was willing to protect her, even if they stood on opposing sides.  
  
She would wonder. She would make lists, as she was wont to do.  
  
And she would figure out who the Reaper was.

 _  
So please think of me the way I used to be.  
_ _As who I really should be.  
_

It had been barely a month since the mass funeral, since she had been forced to say goodbye to so many friends. Barely two months since her world had been turned upside down and flipped inside out, forced to take on a role she had never in a million lifetimes wanted or expected to fill.  
  
There had still been work to do, though that, too, was soon coming to an end. She had death benefits to review and sign off on – for the UN and IJC to review and sign off on as well. If they didn’t sign, she had to review and revise until they did. Her job was to get the best results for those left behind.  
  
The only true sticking point had been the death benefits for Gabriel Reyes. The UN and IJC had not allowed him to be memorialized on the mass grave. It was understandable, considering he was the one who had brought about all the deaths. What she did _not_ find understandable was the refusal to pay out the death benefits every member of Overwatch and Blackwatch was entitled to. The money wasn’t going to Gabriel Reyes, it was going to his beneficiary – a one Julia Rhone, his sister.  
  
From what she could recall, Julia Rhone hadn’t committed any acts of terrorism.  
  
That didn’t matter, though. He was a traitor, and as such no money or other benefits would be extended to the woman who had lost her brother. She was exactly the same as every other beneficiary – every wife, husband, mother, father, brother, sister. But, since she had drawn the short straw of being Gabriel Reyes’ sister, she would be punished.  
  
Angela found that unjust, but she wasn’t the one who got to decide. She was a paper Commander now, holding the title but none of the powers. She was a puppet for the UN until everything was closed, and then they would cut her strings and toss her in the trash with all the other discards of Overwatch.  
  
So she set aside Julia Rhone’s information and continued on. There were three hundred and sixty seven benefits to work through, but the end was in sight. Just a few more days. She could finish this last task, and then she could try to make things right.

\---

Angela Ziegler stood on the porch of a well kept house. She was nervous, anxious. It was the first time she had left Zürich since – well since. It made her feel homesick in a way she hadn’t felt in a long time, even though she realized that “home” didn’t exist any longer. But that didn’t matter. She was here to right a wrong.  
  
Angela pressed the doorbell before she could lose her nerve. A young man answered the door, which was not what she had expected. Neither did she expect the wariness in his eyes and posture as he stood behind a glass porch door.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
Since Julia’s husband had passed away two years ago – if her information was correct, and it should be – this man wasn’t who she was looking for. Still, she knew they had children so perhaps he was their son?  
  
“I’m looking for a Ms. Julia Rhone. Do I have the right address?” Angela asked, noting carefully as he tensed at her request. Interesting. He knew Julia, whether she lived here or not.  
  
“Who’s asking?” His tone was still polite, but his eyes were hard. Unfortunately for him, she’d faced down worse threats than him. She met his gaze coolly.  
  
“Doctor Angela Ziegler.” She saw the flash of recognition and nodded once. “Yes, _that_ Doctor Ziegler. I would like to speak to Ms. Julia Rhone. Is she home?”  
  
“She has noth–” The man was cut off by a woman’s voice, coming from somewhere deeper in the house.  
  
“Let her in, James.” The man closed his eyes, clearly tamping down on his frustration. Angela waited patiently for him to open the door. Once he did, she stepped forward – only to be barred by his arm as he leaned forward.  
  
“If you hurt my mother, I will make you regret it.” The words were a promise, and she inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement though she wasn’t threatened in the slightest. She hadn’t come to hurt anyone; hopefully, she could help make her whole. The man straightened and ushered her into the house, leading her to a comfortably furnished living room not twenty feet inside the house. It was there that Julia sat on a plush chair with her feet propped up on an ottoman. Angela strode across the room to shake her hand congenially.  
  
“Ms. Rhone, I’m Angela Ziegler. I knew your brother. I am so very sorry for your loss.” She had practiced those words just as fiercely as she had practiced her speech for the IJC. It came out warm and sincere, without a single hitch in her voice to bely how affected she still was by his loss. The words were inadequate – she knew that, having been on the receiving end more than once – but it was all she had.  
  
“Thank you, Ms. – ah, Dr. Ziegler. Please, please be seated. And call me Julia – no need for such formalities.” The woman flapped her hand as if she could brush away the title as she could a fly.  
  
“Then you must call me Angela.” The doctor countered pleasantly. The woman nodded. James, introduced as her son, brought them water before plopping down on a couch across from Angela to watch warily as if Angela would leap from her seat to strike his mother.  
  
“Well, Angela, what brings you here? I know you wouldn’t have come all this way to offer condolences.” Julia said, once all social pleasantries were exchanged. Angela took a steadying breath.  
  
“I came to tell you about your brother.” James scoffed from his seat, but Angela ignored him. “And I came to right a wrong that was done to you.” It was a hard thing, talking about Gabriel. He had done such a horrible thing, and yet she felt such sorrow for him.  
  
“Your brother – Gabriel – was the best man I ever knew. I know, people say all sorts of kind things when people – die,” her voice hitched, but she cleared her throat and continued, “but it’s true. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t hard; he was a soldier and his hands are as red as the next, but he was a great leader and an even greater friend.” She struggled for a moment, trying to figure out how to articulate what she wanted to say.  
  
“Take your time, dear. I have nowhere to be.” Julia said, reaching out to pat Angela’s hand gently. The doctor could see the same grief in Julia’s eyes as she saw in her own in the mirror each day. She took a breath – and a sip of the water so graciously provided – and started again.  
  
“Gabriel – Gabriel changed my life. Truly. He recruited me into Overwatch. Oh, I didn’t want to join, not at first, but I did. It was the best choice I ever made, really.” She smiled faintly, before sobering once more. “But I wasn’t this person you see here. My interpersonal skill were… lacking, to say the least. I was – am – a genius, even at eighteen. I held credentials none of my peers had received until they were ten years my senior – or older. I didn’t know how to talk to people, and they didn’t know how to deal with me. I had no friends; all I knew was work, and my work was ground-breaking, to say the least. I barely ate or slept because I had so much to _do_.” She shook her head.  
  
“Gabriel, he changed that. He realized what was happening, and he just – he fixed it. He convinced the others – Jack and Ana, err, Commander Morrison and Captain Amari – and they would drag me to bed or to dinner and make me _talk_ and just be Angela. They taught me what it was to have friends, to actually have a life outside of work, to _live_.” She pulled a handkerchief out of a pocket to wipe at her eyes. She had to be careful that she didn’t turn into a sobbing wreck on this couch.  
  
“God, He saved my life in more ways that one. I gained friends that I never knew I needed, but Gabe, he was the first. Always.” A small wistful smile briefly appeared, but she could barely hold on to the fleeting good memories without them crashing into reality once more. “He took a bullet – many bullets, actually – for me, and for anyone on his team. Unthinking, he just did it – because that was who your brother was. He was kind and caring and _fiercely_ protective.” Angela paused on that thought, considering her next words. They were important, because she knew how little Gabriel had seen his sister in the past few years – and why.  
  
“He... confided in me, so I know how much he loved you.” Another scoff from James; he may have angrily muttered something under his breath, but she couldn’t hear it. “He told me of the trouble you two would get into as children, and how much he hated that he was forced to miss your wedding due to his duties elsewhere. There were so many things Gabe missed with you, and your children – birthdays, milestones, your husbands’ funeral – that he wished he could make up for – but he had a sense of duty that pushed personal wants to the side.” It was one of the many things they had had in common.  
  
“Still, until about – what, six years ago? – he made a point to visit once a year for a handful of days. Then he suddenly stopped, and all you got were letters instead of your brother.” Angela glanced to Julia, who nodded in acknowledgment.  
  
“Yes, he said – he said it was for my protection.” She shook her head. “I just thought it was an excuse to stop visiting, so that he could keep doing whatever it is he did.” Angela nodded.  
  
“That’s an understandable belief, but he really _was_ protecting you. Six years ago – almost seven now, actually – a woman was kidnapped. She was the wife of a prominent agent in Overwatch, very visible. She was taken by Talon and subjected to horrors we can only imagine, until she was theirs entirely. Then, they sent her home to kill her husband. He never saw it coming.” Angela bowed her head briefly; Amélie was still a hole in her heart, a friend hurt so badly that she no longer could recognize her friends from her enemies.  
  
“Gabe, he – he didn’t want that to happen to you. While he wasn’t in the media, not like Jack was, he had very dangerous enemies. They would have exploited any weakness to get to him – and he couldn’t let that happen to you. He let you believe that he couldn’t be bothered, that he could only spare a letter instead of a visit, so that you would be safe from his enemies. Now that he’s – he’s gone, I wanted you to know the truth of him – that he was a good man who loved you. He had a sense of purpose and duty that went beyond himself, which often forced him to push aside anything that wasn’t his work. But, if he could, he would have come out to see you.” Angela hesitated.  
  
“Did you see the press release from the UN? About their findings about the attack on Overwatch?” Julia nodded, glancing towards James.  
  
“That’s why James is here. Somehow word got around that Gabriel was my brother, and now people won’t stop bothering me. Wanting to ask questions or to just say mean, spiteful things. James chases them off for me.” She shook her head. “I don’t believe it. Gabriel would never do such a thing – never! He was good, you said it. He would never hurt all those people, destroy the place he loved.” Angela nearly cracked then. She took a long drink of water to try and compose herself, but she knew she was only partially successful.  
  
“I had the… honor of sitting before the International Justice Council – the IJC – for Overwatch when they were investigating what happened that day. I won’t bore you with the details, but I do want to confirm the UN press release. There is… video footage that proves Gabriel’s – Gabriel’s guilt.” She wiped at her eyes again, frustrated with the emotion even though she knew it was nothing she could control. “It was – It was horrifying to see, and I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it myself. You may not believe me, because that video will never be seen by anyone that is not myself or the IJC, but it’s the truth.”  
  
“But… But why would Gabriel…? He – He loved Overwatch.” Julia had the same tone, the same expression, Angela had on her face countless times these past months. _Why?_ They would never know, as it had died with him.  
  
“No one knows why. I – I wish I knew. I wish I understood, but I – I don’t. I never will, because he took it to – to his grave.” She shook her head. “He – He knew I could never choose him over Overwatch – or Overwatch over him – so he took my choice from me. He planned, and… well.” There was a long, long pause where the two women took the time to compose themselves.  
  
“You said you wanted to right a wrong?” Julia asked after clearing her throat. Neither woman acknowledged the red rimmed eyes by silent agreement.  
  
“Ah, yes.” Angela nodded. “The UN and IJC has decided that, due to Gabe’s… transgressions… they will not pay out his death benefits to you. Or to anyone, for that matter.” Her eyes flashed, a steely look people only saw when they roused her ire. “They wouldn’t listen to me, no matter how I argued. _You_ aren’t to blame, no matter… no matter what happened. They chose to disagree.” She shook her head.  
  
“I find that reprehensible. You do not deserve to be punished for anothers’ actions. So. I want to extend my aid to you, whatever you need, whenever you need it. Money, medical treatment, whatever you need you can come to me.” Angela put a card with her information on the table. Julia made a surprised sound, clearly not expecting such generosity.  
  
“You don’t have to do that. We aren’t your burden.” Angela smiled, a brittle thing.  
  
“You will find, Julia, that I shoulder a great many burdens. However, _you_ will never be a burden to me. You are Gabe’s family, and I know he would want me to do this.” Julia was shaking her head. She tapped the card. “Keep it. If something – anything – happens, you can call. Any time. I will always do my best to protect you and yours, as – as Gabe did before me.” In another world, another life, maybe this woman before her would have been her family. She would honor the bonds, whether Julia knew of them or not.  
  
“Do not be so quick to turn me away. You never know what tomorrow may bring – as we all have learned.”

 _  
So don’t forget me.  
_ _You can’t forget me.  
_ _You won’t forget me.  
_ _Please don’t forget me  
  
_

Today marked one year since the Zürich base had fallen.  
  
When she had visited during the first few weeks after the memorial had been erected, she had someone with her. Overwatch might not exist anymore, she might not hold the title of Commander, but she still had plenty of enemies – and her friends didn’t want her hurt. So one of her friends – Jesse, Genji, Lena, Reinhardt, and any other who was still around – would watch over her. Those visits were short; she didn’t want to impose on them longer than she had to.  
  
As time passed and her friends slowly drifted away, she came alone and for longer. Tears streaking down her cheeks, she’d leaned against it and whisper how she missed them, how they haunted her dreams, how she wished things were different. Sometimes she was silent, her lips unable to form the words she wanted to say. Once, she yelled and screamed and begged; her hands had been bruised and her throat hoarse for a week after that fit. Sometimes she could only stand to be there for mere minutes. Other times she’d stay for hours, until the sun went down and the night grew chill around her.  
  
It wasn’t unusual to find people around the memorial – especially in the early days. While many were angry about Overwatch as an organization, the agents that had died still had loved ones who wanted to mourn and honor them. On the anniversary of their passing, she imagined there would be even more to make the trip. She couldn’t bear to face them all again, not today – so she made sure that she arrived early to pay her respects. Gently she reached out to press one hand to the stone and bowed her head.  
  
“It’s been a year now, hasn’t it?” She missed them every day. Jack had been the brother she’d never had. Ana had been a sister, a mother, to replace what she had lost. And Gabriel – Gabriel had been her beginning and her end, from the very first. She should hate him after everything he’d done, everything he’d destroyed, but she couldn’t. Even now she mourned him, loved him, but she couldn’t bring herself to hate him – no matter how much he deserved it. She leaned back to find the familiar names on the stone – and tried to ignore the one that was missing.  
  
He had his own grave in the cemetery, paid out of her own pocket, and she visited it just as often as she did this memorial. But for times like these, when she wanted to visit _everyone_ , she came here. She spoke to them all – even Ana, who had died years prior to the events that made this memorial necessary – at this stone.  
  
“I wish you had been here with me. It’s been so hard since you’ve gone.” She didn’t know if she was talking to Ana, Jack, or Gabriel – or all of them or none of them. Once upon a time she’d had nothing in her life but work. Friendship was only a distraction that she couldn’t afford. They had brought her to Overwatch, had given her a place to find fulfillment _and_ friendship – and love – and now it had been stripped away. Now she was alone again – and not by choice. Her status in Overwatch had left her a pariah at worst and unapproachable at best. She was still sought after by hospitals, she still had work to complete – but outside of work she was alone once more. None but another Overwatch agent would risk getting close – and none had wanted to stay in Zürich after everything that had happened, even if they could stomach what the one closest to her had wrought. Her friends had scattered to the winds instead, trying to move on and live their own lives.  
  
She had been left behind, and it hurt.  
  
“I miss you, so much.” It had been hard, but time had passed. Those first weeks had turned to a month, and then a month into two, and now she stood here a year later. The hole in her heart had slowly grown smaller, but some days it would hit her just as hard as it had that first time she had woken up in the Ruins of the base and of her life.  
  
The first time had been when she had turned to call Gabriel, to tell him about her day – and then remembering that she couldn’t. He would never answer that call again, no matter how many times she wished it otherwise. She’d cried for hours, clutching the communicator as if it were a lifeline as she sat on the floor of her living room. It had hurt, as badly as it had the first time.  
  
The second had been the day she had realized suddenly – inexplicably – that she’d forgotten what they sounded like when they laughed, and it brought tears to her eyes. Angela had kept their memories alive through recordings that had captured their voices and expressions – but they’d never laughed in any of the recordings she could find. They’d only had official events – meetings, ceremonies, orders – recorded; never once had they considered recording the good times. She wished they’d thought of it, that she could just have one happy memory to watch when things got bad. They should have learned from Ana’s death, but they’d been so sure they had more time.  
  
The third had been when she’d had a breakthrough on a major research project. She had to tell Jack – the UN always had questions and hypothetical problems that he would help her defend against – but her hand stilled before it could try to find her communicator. It didn’t break her, not like the first two times, but it had ripped at the stitches she’d managed to sew in her heart.  
  
A hand touched her shoulder gently and she jerked in surprise, her hands lifting to her cheeks to swipe at the tears there. Angela glanced up to see it was McCree, and she let her hands drop from her face; there was a time when she’d have hidden her emotion from any of her friends, but there didn’t seem to be much of a point now. Silently, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and tucked her in close to his side, a wordless comfort that she leaned into gratefully. It had been so long since she could trust someone to support her, and the thought nearly brought her to her knees. Neither of them spoke as they gazed at the memorial and all they had lost.  
  
Angela had no idea how long they stood there before she gently pulled away to turn and look up at his face. He looked weary and sad – which was probably a mirror to her own. There were new lines on his face, and she wondered what had happened to put them there.  
  
“It’s good to see you, Jesse.” She murmured at last, wiping the last traces off her grief from her cheeks. Last she’d heard he was working for some security detail in North America; she didn’t know why she was surprised to see him here now. Somehow, she’d thought that, having moved on from Overwatch, they’d avoid the reminder of the day they’d lost everything.  
  
“You too, doc.” How she’d missed him. He’d been one of her closest friends, after the leadership core. It had hurt to lose him, too – but she knew he couldn’t bear to stay so close to the site of everything they lost, just as she couldn’t bear to be too far away. So many of her old friends had left her. Sure, they had written and spoke on the phone, but it was nothing to the camaraderie they had once shared. And, as time had passed, the letters and calls had slowed; they had all moved on, and she was the only one left to live in the past. It would have been selfish to cling to them, so she’d let them go.  
  
“How long are you here for?” She knew it wouldn’t be long; he never lingered in Zürich anymore. No one did – except her. She’d always been a glutton for punishment.  
  
“Jus’ the week. Figured you’d get here early – I remember you weren’t one for crowds.” She smiled then – nothing like her bright, normal one, not today, but it was a smile, nonetheless. It was left unsaid that she wouldn’t want to be a part of the crowd to come, of those agents that still bore her ill will after Gabriel’s treachery had been revealed.  
  
“Do you need a place to stay? I’ve got room.” Before Overwatch, she’d never had a guest room. After the Fall, she made sure she had space for a handful of guests – just in case, not that she’d ever needed it. They rarely came to visit, but she always wanted to be prepared – just in case. She so rarely got to see her friends; between their work schedules and the unspoken agreement that had come between them all after the PETRAS act, she’d be lucky to get a call from most of them twice a month these days.  
  
“Y’sure? I’d hate to impose.” Angela shook her head at him. How could he – could any of them – think they’d be any kind of burden to her? If anything, she’d say it was usually the other way around. Couldn’t protect herself, couldn’t leave the city that had cost them the most, couldn’t move on and leave the ghosts of their past behind.  
  
“You so rarely visit – of course I’m sure.” She’d just have to pull out some linens – and she’d definitely get a few more days off so that she could enjoy the time with her old friends. After all, she was certain more than McCree would show up today – though she hadn’t quite believed it until McCree arrived.  
  
“Angela! Jesse! My friends!” A booming German voice reached them, but before they could turn Reinhardt had snatched them both up in a crushing hug. Angela couldn’t help but laugh – and then she felt guilty for her happiness when standing before the memorial. Life went on, she knew that more than most, but that didn’t change her guilt or sorrow.  
  
Reinhardt dropped them to the ground once more and turned, revealing a small group of ex-Overwatch members – including Winston, Torbjorn, and Lena. It had been so long since they’d been together. She couldn’t help the smile that spread across her lips – or the tears that streaked her cheeks again.  
  
“What’sa matter, love?” Lena was suddenly before her, hands on her hips as she leaned forward a little to inspect her. Angela shook her head and got control of her emotions.  
  
“I’ve just missed you all, so much.”

 _  
With changing inside I’m completely paralyzed,  
_ _Remaining corrupt as I wish for paradise.  
_ _Remember the me, the way I used to be  
  
_

He really shouldn’t be so surprised.  
  
They’d had their share of traitors in the past, the most famous being Gerard’s wife, Amélie – though that really wasn’t completely her fault, was it? She was one of many failures that could be laid at his – at _their_ – feet. Usually they didn’t get too far up the ranks before they were discovered – and dealt with.  
  
The discovery – and disposal, when necessary – of these traitors were his purview.  
  
But with the political climate changing, there were more and more joining Overwatch and its counterpart for the wrong reasons. There were too many agendas. Some were benign, like Angela’s – she just wanted to help as many people as possible and used Overwatch as a tool to that regard. Others were more grey than that – such as Moira, who had no scruples when it came to her experiments and hid in the shadows of Blackwatch for too long.  
  
Sifting through these had become more and more time consuming, considering that Blackwatch’s movements were becoming harder to hide. There were less benevolence and more personal, chaotic decisions – determination to ‘expose’ Overwatch and Blackwatch, as if they _weren’t_ working under the UN as a military force that required _some_ secrecy from the public. And with the chaos came the malevolent, the agents that worked for Talon and other terrorist cells. They slipped in through the cracks as he – and the few he could trust with the duty – tried to find the needles in the needlestack.  
  
Once they’d taken root, they whispered to those chaotic fools that thought they were ‘protecting’ the world from Overwatch – and then protected the ones that had goaded them under a foolish sense of duty and camaraderie that just allowed the true enemy to burrow further into the ranks.  
  
By the time he’d figured out which members were the true enemy, they had gotten their claws sunk too deep in nearly every aspect of Overwatch – and Blackwatch, to his chagrin.  
  
Blackwatch was barely in his control anymore. Considering that it was filled with the less scrupulous agents – Genji of the Shimada clan being only the very tip of the dark iceberg – it shouldn’t be that big of a surprise that they had been swayed away from Overwatch. They ran missions – but the only ones that succeeded barely yielded anything of worth anymore and the rest came under such heavy scrutiny that his hands were further tied. Everywhere he turned, Blackwatch was plastered in the news or another mission had failed spectacularly.  
  
The stress of being summarily kicked to the shadows had already been a point of contention between him and Jack. Then Ana had died. He hadn’t realized how much of a buffer she had been until she was gone – and then it was nearly impossible to talk to his friend without their words somehow turning to anger. Blackwatch was a stressor that lay between them. For him it was his shame, that he was no longer good enough to stand in the light with the rest of them. For Jack, it was what he believed to be betrayal, that Gabriel was destroying the organization given to his care – when it was Talon corruption from within that was leading to so much of the trouble.  
  
Then Overwatch became corrupted – and Gabriel knew it was too late.  
  
Oh, it was insidious. A casual chat could lead to an information breach – if the information wasn’t given to a Talon agent directly. They were in such key places that they could pull important information without any outside help. It could be the chefs, listening in as the agents passed through the canteen, or it could be a secretary to Jack himself. He was certain some of these agents hadn’t joined Overwatch with the intent to betray them, that they had been convinced later – but that didn’t change their betrayal or the damage it created.  
  
He was faced with an impossible decision.  
  
Blackwatch was lost. The organization had always been dark – assassinations, torture, and kidnapping were just some of their tasks – and the agents were even worse; it was easy for them to stray from the light when it didn’t exist in their world. While Jack wouldn’t, or couldn’t, hear of it, stubborn that he was in his ‘omnipotence’, Gabriel knew it was a fact – and if he wouldn’t hear of Blackwatch, he’d never consider his great achievement to be on the path to destruction too, even if all one had to do was open a newspaper to know it was true.  
  
All he could do was protect the ones that were left, the ones that didn’t deserve to be dragged through the dirt. It didn’t matter what it meant for him; he had sworn too many oaths and killed too many people for such a small thing as personal honor to stand in his way.  
  
He couldn’t trust anyone with this task; it had to be him. Oh, McCree and Genji were trustworthy enough – as well as several other agents under him. But he didn’t want them to take the fall for his actions, this decision that must be made. The blame had to sit on his shoulders, to keep them out of the line of fire. He would be a rogue agent, rather than the Commander of Blackwatch.  
  
So, he planned: carefully and meticulously. This was the most important undertaking of his life, and he couldn’t afford for anything to go wrong.  
  
The only one he couldn’t protect, in the end, was Jack. Once Gabriel’s betrayal came to light, once the corruption was discovered, Jack would be destroyed. He was the golden boy, and like a captain of old he would go down with his ship.  
  
Gabriel could at least make it quick, couldn’t he?  
  
He sent Genji, McCree, and the few he cared about onto missions that took them far from Zürich so that there could be no mistake that they had any part in his actions. He made sure Angela was scheduled to be out of the base – though that was much trickier. She didn’t leave as much as she had in the past, and never for long missions – after Ana’s death she couldn’t be sent away for long and she was much too valuable to be risked when she no longer had a dedicated protector looking out for her (not that she seemed to need much protecting these days).  
  
He could care less about the monkey, but he knew that Reinhardt had been forced into retirement and his friend Torbjörn had taken time to visit his family and help his old friend settle as best he could. He was unsure of any of the other members of Overwatch – but in truth, many of those he cared about were either no longer part of Overwatch (in one way or another) or were out of the range of his protection. He regretted the innocent lives that would be destroyed by this decision of his – but he’d do, and had done, much worse than this to stop Talon from taking over.  
  
Then, he went to the Zürich base one last time. He’d miss the building – it had been his home for a large part of his life, and destroying it felt like cutting off a limb – but it had to be done.  
  
His only solace was that he wouldn’t live long enough to feel the guilt of his actions.  
  
He wasn’t even searched when he came in – but then again, who would expect him to try to harm Overwatch? Despite their recent troubles, he and Jack were brothers-in-arms; he’d never wish harm against the man if there was any other way around it. Instead, he carried his explosives to the key places he’d determined. It took some work, but he managed to place all of them without arousing the suspicion of anyone.  
  
He ensured that datahubs would be destroyed – research, agent information, and any other information that Talon or anyone else could benefit from would go up in flames. He avoided load-bearing beams and walls wherever possible, to ensure as many people as possible could survive the coming attack. While he hated the thought of Talon spies escaping, he didn’t want to kill _everyone_ in the building.  
  
He left the operation center for last. He knew that Jack would be there – that’s almost the only place the blonde was these days – and that he couldn’t place the explosives casually there. Once he entered that room, there was no going back. He – and his brother, his best friend – would die today.  
  
Gabriel took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and walked through the doors for the last time.

 _  
Oh won’t you tell--  
_ _Oh please just tell--  
_ _Well now who could it be  
_ _That lives inside of me?  
_  


He hadn’t gone far. While he – Gabriel – still had distaste for his need to steal human lifeforce to sustain and heal him, he had long come to terms with the necessity. Though he had punished every traitor Overwatch member by draining them while they were alive, he’d quickly and painlessly killed the homeless woman he’d found before stripping her of the nutrients he needed. He felt the Reaper stirring in his subconscious, the murderous act awakening him where Gabriel’s protective act had silenced him.  
  
He sighed, rolling his neck and shoulders as his body knit itself back together. It felt similar to the tools Angela had used on him all those years ago, yet with a horrific trigger that would appall her if she knew about it.  
  
Gabriel left what remained of the woman where he found her, certain she’d be discovered before the coming day was over. Her death would be attributed to the string of deaths laid at the Reapers feet – with good reason, as she was certainly his victim. They would scratch their heads, wondering why his target had changed drastically, but eventually Gabriel – The Reaper – would strike again and they’d forget about it with time (and bodies).  
  
He’d hurried through the process so he could return to that shack. He wouldn’t sneak back inside – too risky to be caught, for one thing – but would instead lurk on the roof of a nearby building. The Reaper thought Gabriel was being ridiculous, but since Gabriel was the one in control there wasn’t much he could do about it. It would take time for Gabriel to give up control again – and he wasn’t fooling himself. The Reaper _would_ take control again; it was only a matter of time.  
  
He turned his gaze to the door, waiting for the two to emerge. There was no nefarious reason to this watch; it was quite the opposite instead. He wanted – no, _needed_ – to make sure Angela was healed. He was fairly certain they wouldn’t have left yet; digging out a bullet could be time consuming. If she left the building with those wounds, he would follow to ensure she went to a hospital.  
  
Not that he should worry about that. While Angela could be stubborn, she wasn’t stupid. And even if she was hard headed enough to believe she could treat herself, Jesse would never allow it. He’d shepherd her into a hospital if he had to throw her over his shoulder to do it. Though they hadn’t been in the same country for long these past years – he had kept tabs on them since the fall – he knew that Jesse would protect Angela with his life.  
  
Just like he knew that Jesse really _hadn’t_ shot Angela – at least, not purposefully. The blame for that rested solely on him, not that he’d ever acknowledge that out loud. Instead, he’d laid the blame at Jesse’s feet and threatened him – which was somewhat in the Reapers’ character, at least. Both of them should have realized the trajectory would put Angela in danger. The bullets would have hurt like a bitch, but they wouldn’t have killed him.  
  
He wasn’t actually certain he _could_ be killed.  
  
The door was pushed open, and Jesse McCree emerged. He held the door for Angela like a gentleman, before falling in step beside her as they walked away. Gabriel made sure he was fully cloaked by the shadows; while he looked casual, Gabriel knew Jesse was searching for him – and any other threats. That didn’t stop him from drinking in Angela’s appearance. The red was still there – worse, at her shoulder – but he couldn’t see any signs that the wounds were still present. Angela wasn’t walking gingerly or with any particular care that would bely an injury she was nursing. She wasn’t leaning on McCree’s arm or her staff, which was held casually in one hand.  
  
He sighed with relief. While he knew, _knew_ , Angela wouldn’t die from her wounds, would barely be inconvenienced by yet another set of scars, he still had to be sure. She had to be okay. It was all he had left.  
  
Maybe after the dust settled, _again_ , he could go to Angela. Reveal himself, what he had done and why. But that would be another day, far into a future he couldn’t pretend to see.  
  
Gabriel turned and left the rooftop. He still had a mission to complete, a character to play. Root and stem, he’d burn out the corruption before turning to tear down Talon brick by brick.  
  
He was Death, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> I know, I know, it's been _literally_ years since I've posted a story. I'm so sorry to those who were with me in the beginning for the hiatus. Life has a way of kicking you in the teeth when you're already down. I wanted to come back sooner, but unfortunately my grandfather was diagnosed - and succumbed - to lung cancer, and I just wasn't able. Much of this writing was used to help work through my grief - you know the scenes - so I hope they evoke the proper emotions. 
> 
> Unlike my prior posts, which were lightning fast [what, around 70K words in two-ish weeks? Jesus.], this one took me nearly a year to complete. I'm trying to get back into writing, so please bear with me. This songfic, while not part of the main story, should be considered canon for my story and may eventually be adapted into the series [if I get off my ass and get it done].
> 
> I do intend to pull down my current series so that I can make them one full, chaptered story, regardless of if I manage to continue it. 
> 
> I hope you're all doing well!


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